


Safe (Serial Killer!Sam Winchester) 18+

by neganslucilletblr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Cheating, Dark fic, Descriptions of murder, F/M, Fluff, Murder, Rough Sex, Smut, Strangulation, arousal from murder, derogatory attitude towards women, descriptions of dead bodies, descriptions of death, dub con, non con, p in v, serial killer au, serial killer!Sam, stalker!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 59,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neganslucilletblr/pseuds/neganslucilletblr
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is a young, ambitious reporter who throws herself into every report she writes. Getting caught up in the new infamous serial killer in town, she finds herself in situations she shouldn’t be in, putting herself in danger for the perfect story. But luckily, her boyfriend, Sam, is around to keep her safe… and away from the truth.
Relationships: Sam Winchester & Other, Sam Winchester & You, Sam Winchester/Other, Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You, sam winchester & reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Without tooting my own horn, I think this is my best work yet. I am SO EXCITED for you to read this! <3
> 
> Chapter Tags: arousal from murder, mentions of murder, mentions of rape, crime scene photos, smut, p in v, cheating, angst, stranglation, dead body

**_Sam’s POV_ **

**WEDNESDAY 2nd NOVEMBER 2005**

Sam shuffled in his seat, tugging on the legs of his jeans. The image on the whiteboard ahead suddenly changed from the image of a body washed up on a riverbank to one laying in long grass. The lecturer was talking again, but Sam couldn’t concentrate. His focus was on the rope marks around the woman’s ankles and wrists where she’d clearly been bound. Her clothes were ripped and dirty and she’d been placed there almost carefully. It was like a piece of art. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the vacant look in hers. The image was suddenly gone, and Sam’s mind returned to the room. He realised everyone around him was packing away their things, including Y/N, who always sat next to him in criminology. It was the only lesson they had together, she was studying English, hoping to become a reporter, and Sam was studying Law, hoping to become a lawyer, so Criminology was the only place their studies really overlapped. Sam got on with Y/N from the moment he met her. She was sweet and funny, and shared his weird fascination for crime and murder. Though Sam wondered just how much they shared where that was concerned, as he felt his pants finally start to loosen around his crotch again. 

Sam looked down at his empty page and sighed heavily, grabbing Y/N’s attention. 

“Again?” she chuckled, noticing that once again, he hadn’t taken any notes all class. 

“Yeah, my head’s not with it at the moment,” he lied. His head was definitely with it, so with it he couldn’t concentrate on what the lecturer was saying. Y/N bit her lip for a moment.

“Why don’t you come back to my place and you can copy my notes?” she offered as she stood up from her seat. “I’m free the rest of the afternoon.” Sam thought about his schedule and nodded.

“Yeah, okay that would be great, thanks, Y/N.” He stood up too, collecting his things and shoving them into his backpack before following Y/N out of the room. 

They walked across campus together, discussing a cold murder case from the seventies that was now Y/N’s latest obsession. He loved hearing her talk about it with such great intrigue and enthusiasm. The whole year Sam had known her, she’d been determined to crack one cold case no one else ever had, despite having limited resources from the library or Internet, and no real training in being a detective of any kind. But it made her happy, and who was Sam to deny her that? 

“He took fingers?” Sam asked. Y/N beamed across at him, clearly very happy that he was showing an interest. He couldn’t imagine that her other friends did. 

“I know, fucking creepy, right? Like he’d just chop them off and keep them in a jar or something, I don’t know. I can understand them wanting a trophy, but a fucking finger,” she giggled, shaking her head in disbelief. Sam scoffed a laugh and stopped at her dorm door as she dug into her pocket for a key. 

Sam had never been in Y/N’s room before, he knew she lived alone because her roommate dropped out half way through the year. She stepped inside and Sam followed, seeing the standard college dorm type of room, except one wall was littered with newspaper clippings and photos, string and post-it notes scattered amongst it all like some kind of board you’d see in a cop movie. Sam placed his bag down, quickly drawn to the images like a moth to a flame.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. It helps me figure things out,” she blushed, digging her hands into her jeans pockets. 

“I like it, very professional,” Sam quipped. Y/N giggled and stood alongside him as she too stared at the wall. Sam’s eyes glanced over crime scene photos, blood splattering walls, chalk lines of where bodies were found, photos of bloodstained clothes and belongings. 

“Each girl was in her late teens, raped multiple times, and had her hair shaved before she was murdered with a slit throat,” Y/N explained, her Y/E/C eyes scanning the whole wall. “They never did find the guy.” Sam swallowed hard, his eyes landing on the victim photos. _Pauline Hammond, 18 years old. Lisa Griffiths, 17 years old, Gail Saunders, 17 years old._ The list went on. They were all pretty girls, long brunette hair and dark brown eyes. Every photo was a school photo of some kind, all of them posed and smiling widely for the camera. Sam licked his lips, imagining what they looked like once their killer was through with them. He wondered how it must’ve felt. He could feel his jeans tighten again as he continued to look over all the evidence Y/N had pinned to the wall, notes to herself scrawled and stuck on various photos and articles. 

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked. “Yeah, I know that’s weird, but I do,” she admitted quietly. 

Sam finally peeled his eyes away and looked at her. 

“It’s not weird, I love it too,” he confessed. She smiled softly at him. 

“Most people think I’m a freak,” she told him sadly. Sam reached down and cupped the side of her face.

“You’re not a freak, sweetheart,” he reassured her. She looked up at him and gave him a grateful smile. Sam’s thumb reached across to ghost her bottom lip, and he noticed how Y/N’s eyes dropped to his own lips. He leaned down and kissed her before he could change his mind. The arousal that was coursing through his veins had him ignoring the one million reasons why it was a bad idea. Y/N responded to the kiss immediately, and started to unbuckle his belt in a rush that made her breathless. Sam was just as eager to tear into her jeans as they both scrambled to get their bottom halves naked. Y/N stepped out of her pants quickly and jumped into his arms as he pressed her against the wall. The rustling of the papers as her back made contact with them was drowned out by her whimper. 

Sam was painfully hard once he reached between their bodies and lined himself up with her opening, thrusting inside her hard and fast. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers scraping through the nape as she moaned loudly and Sam kissed at her neck. She was tight, tighter than he imagined she’d be. His eyes fell on the image over Y/N’s shoulder. The school skirt the victim had been wearing was stained with blood, barely covering pasty white thighs, rope burns around her knees and dried blood on the insides of her legs. He grunted, snapping his hips forward quicker and harder, fucking Y/N up the wall as he continued to seek out the photos, more blood, more bodies. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the way she dripped around him. 

“Oh god, Sam, yes,” she whined, panting heavily. Sam whimpered, feeling himself get close, and as his eyes landed on a victim, throat slit and eyes vacant he came undone, his hips stuttering as he gasped for air. Y/N moaned with him, scraping her nails down his back before he pulled away and gently let her down to her feet. 

The post orgasmic clarity hit him quickly as he stepped back completely and started to put himself away. They were both still panting as Y/N bent down and grabbed her jeans to pull back on. 

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, running his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill,” she reassured him.

“No, no it’s not that,” Sam explained, not feeling his heart rate slow down at all. Y/N’s eyes widened, like it had suddenly dawned on her exactly why he was freaking out. 

“Fuck. Jess,” she whispered. Just the mention of his girlfriend’s name on Y/N’s lips made him panic. Y/N was going to tell Jess what had happened. She was too honest and _nice_ for her own good. He wasn’t even a cheater, he’d just gotten so caught up in the moment, the photos, her stupid fucking crime board, he’d not been thinking clearly. Y/N clasped a hand over her mouth as tears came to her eyes. She’d never even met Jess, at least not for longer than two minutes at a houseparty or two, but Sam could still see the guilt written on her face. 

“I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to-” she swallowed hard. 

“We can’t talk about this ever again, okay?” he pressed. “It didn’t happen. You can’t tell Jess.” She nodded, still speechless. “Promise me,” he demanded. 

“I promise,” she whispered. 

“I should go,” Sam sighed heavily, feeling a little better with her promise. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” She snapped out of her shock.

“No, don’t apologise. Go, go home to Jess,” she encouraged. Sam grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Sam, wait,” she called out, reaching into her bag and pulling out her notepad. “The notes,” she prompted. Sam gave her the best smile he could, which wasn’t much, as he grabbed the notepad from her. 

Nothing else was said between them as Sam left her dorm, and he kept his head down the whole way back to his apartment, where his girlfriend was no doubt hanging out, waiting for him to get back. He knew they both had the final period free on Thursdays. He just hoped that what he’d just done wasn’t written all over his face, that he didn’t get found out somehow. The last thing he needed was a fight on his hands. 

He drew a deep breath before he opened the door. 

“I’m home, baby,” he called out, trying to seem as normal as possible. There was no reply. Sam dropped his bag to the floor by the door and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the bottle of whiskey from the side as he poured himself a measure and took a sip. The burning liquid glided down his throat with ease. “Jess?” he called. Maybe she was out, caught up with friends or something. He finished his drink and placed the glass down on the counter, rolling his head on his shoulders. He could feel the cotton of his t-shirt scratch against the marks Y/N’s nails had left behind on his back, and he could still feel the ghost of her cunt wrapped around him. He needed a shower.

He headed towards the bedroom, scrubbing a hand down his face and stopping dead in his tracks when he noticed that Jess was in bed. 

“Baby?” he called out. Maybe she was taking a nap. She was naked, sprawled along the top of the bedsheets, legs flung apart like she was waiting for him or something. He stepped closer, “Jess,” he prompted, reaching out for her foot. It was stone cold, and he quickly looked at her face to see her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling, that same vacant look he’d grown to know too well. The same look that plastered Y/N’s wall. His hand flinched away from her body and his eyes fell upon the dark bruises that he could now see around her neck, like she’d been choked. Sam didn’t need to check for a pulse, her skin already turning blue. There was no mistaking she was dead.

Sam was frozen to the spot for a moment, trying to piece together in his mind what had happened to her. Why was she naked? Why had she been strangled? Who killed her? He stepped back and left the room without a word, the silence of their apartment almost screaming at him as he returned to the kitchen and refilled his whiskey glass, downing it in one. He hated to admit that part of him was relieved that he didn’t have to worry about her finding out about Y/N. He chalked it down to shock. Would Jess still be alive if he’d had gone straight home like he usually did on a Thursday afternoon? He’d have been there to protect her. There was no sign of a struggle, a robbery, or even just forced entry. Nothing added up. Sam’s brain finally kicked into action enough for him to reach into his pocket for his cell. He let the ringing fill his ears. 

“My girlfriend’s dead,” he said as soon as he was connected. His tone was neutral, no sadness, no _anything._ He’d stated the fact like he was giving the forecast. 

“Sammy? What? What’s happened?”

“Jess is dead, Dean. I think someone’s killed her.” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: angst, death, talk of murder, mentions of cheating, mentions of rape

**_Your POV_ **

**FRIDAY 11th NOVEMBER 2005**

Nerves pulled at your stomach as you pulled on your black dress and took a deep breath. You weren’t even sure you should be going, but you wanted - no - needed to pay your respects. You didn’t know Jess, not really. Only bits and pieces that Sam had told you, and you’d met her in passing a couple of times at social gatherings. You still felt a crippling guilt every time you thought of her and Sam and what the two of you had done to her. And now she was gone so you couldn’t even tell her how sorry you were. You couldn’t even explain how or why it happened. One minute you were looking at disturbing crime scene photos, and the next you’d been pinned against them, Sam deep inside you. You were undeniably attracted to him, and you felt some kind of bond with him you’d never had with anyone else, thanks to your joint interests. He was the only person you’d met that didn’t judge you for your weird attraction to serial killings and gruesome crimes. He shared in your excitement and intrigue surrounding it all. He actually _listened_ to your incessant ramblings. 

Hearing Sam tell you you weren’t a freak, feeling his hand on your cheek when he called you _sweetheart,_ it all just added up, until you weren’t thinking clearly at all. When he kissed you, you couldn’t help but respond. But that was no excuse and you knew it. You should’ve stopped him, you should’ve reminded him about Jess. It was a heat of the moment gone wrong, you knew Sam wouldn’t have meant it, he wouldn’t have cheated before and he wouldn’t again. He wasn’t that kind of guy, you were sure of it. Sam hadn’t been to classes since, not that you’d expected him to want to learn less than a fortnight after his girlfriend had been murdered. 

It was all anyone could talk about. At first, people speculated what had happened, who had done it, and the entire campus was on high alert. Even the professors and the Dean were on edge. You’d been given several safety talks from local police, free pepper spray had been handed out, and there were security guards manning the campus. People barely left their dorms if it wasn’t for classes. Jess had been murdered in the middle of the day, in her own apartment. That made people _very_ uneasy. But a few days ago, someone had been arrested. Another student. Taylor Marvin. He was in Jess’ psych class. He was the cocky, arrogant type of guy that had any girl he laid eyes on, and you’d never paid much attention to him. He wasn’t your type. Once he’d been arrested, tensions started lifting slightly, and hushed rumours started to circulate about him, what had happened and why he’d killed her. 

You’d heard a million and one different versions of the event, but believed none of them. Until an official statement was released, you didn’t want to know. You had no doubt all these rumours were making Sam uncomfortable, and you didn’t want to add fuel to that fire, so you kept your head down. You’d found out about Jess via a phone call from a friend in your literature class the next morning. Frankie had assumed you already knew, given that you spoke to Sam regularly, but you’d been none the wiser, assuming you’d not heard from Sam the remainder of the night because of what had happened between you. As soon as you’d come off the phone from Frankie, you’d text Sam, not sure he’d even want to hear from you, but you needed to let him know you were there for him. It was all so fucked up. You picked up your cell off the bed and reopened the message thread between you and Sam, seeing your last text exchange. 

**_< I’m so sorry to hear about Jess. If you need me, I’m here. X_ **

**_> Thank you_ **

You bit your bottom lip anxiously, wondering if you should warn him you were planning on attending the service that morning, or maybe even ask him if he was okay with you going, but you couldn’t find the words, and you didn’t want to bother him. Most of the college were planning on going to pay their respects so you’d be lost amongst the crowds, anyway. You could just hide out at the back, out of sight of Sam. As there was an ongoing investigation, it wasn’t a funeral as such, more just a memorial. There was no burial or official service. But it was still being held in a church. You checked yourself over one last time and drew a deep breath, grabbing your purse and cell, and leaving your dorm before you could change your mind. 

The walk to the local church seemed gruelling in your heels, other clusters of sophomores heading in the same direction, and despite Frankie’s offer for you to attend with her, you’d decided to go alone so you could slip away if you needed to. There was a sea of black flooding up the stairway to the church entrance as people slowly filed into the building. You waited your turn silently, already feeling a thick dread sitting in the base of your stomach. You absolutely hated funerals. You hated the heartbreak, the doom and gloom of them. Ironically, despite what your bedroom wall might suggest, you hated death. Your palms were clammy with anxiety as you stepped forward and finally entered the church, already seeing that most of the pews were full, so you decided to stand at the very back, out of sight. 

Before you could head in that direction, you felt a hand grip the top of your arm. 

“Y/N.” You looked up to see the person you were hoping to avoid staring back at you. 

“S-Sam,” you stammed out, cheeks heating up. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to pay my-” you stumbled on your words. 

“Thank you for coming,” he smiled warmly. It took you off guard. You expected Sam to yell you out of the building, ask how you had the nerve to show your face at his girlfriend’s funeral after what you’d done to her. His hand squeezed your arm affectionately and you felt the heat of his skin soak into yours. 

“Of course,” you swallowed hard. He looked pleased to see you. Perhaps he just wanted a familiar face. 

“Come and sit with me?” he asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed, still thrown off by his welcoming nature. 

Sam’s hand slipped down your arm to your wrist as he lightly gripped it and pulled you through the crowds towards the front of the church. It felt wrong of you to be so close to the front, where family and close friends were sat sobbing, when you barely even knew her, when you’d done what you’d done with her boyfriend, the very day she died - _been killed_. But you wanted to be there for Sam, so you bit your tongue and followed him to the spaces in the pew two rows back from the very front. He dropped your wrist as you slid into your seats, and you offered him an awkward smile as you sat and waited for the service to begin. You couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on the photo of Jess on the front of the programme that the older woman next to you was clutching. She was beautiful, you’d always thought so. Long blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes, and you wondered how Sam could even think about someone like you in the way he had that day when she was waiting at home for him. 

You hated how close together the two dates that were printed underneath her photo were, and swallowed the lump in your throat as the building settled into hushed whispers and the priest took his stand at the front. The memorial was beautiful and tasteful, the words that the priest spoke were enough for even you to get teary eyed, but every time you glanced at Sam his face was stoic. Maybe he was too afraid to get emotional in front of so many people. Maybe he had cried all his tears out already. Maybe he was still in denial or shock, or maybe he was just good at hiding it whenever you looked his way, but for whatever reason, Sam’s eyes barely even glazed over for a moment. 

-

You stood politely alongside Sam as he talked briefly to family members and people you had no idea about, too afraid to excuse yourself and make him think you were skipping out on him. Every now and then he’d reach out and grip your wrist, as if silently pleading for you to stay close by, so you obeyed. Sam finally led you out of the church and it fell silent between you as you walked back towards campus. You didn’t know what to say, what you could say to someone who had just lost their girlfriend. You were only twenty one, Sam twenty two, you weren’t built for this kind of conversation already. It didn’t seem right. You read about and looked at death every day, but you had rarely been this close to it. You lost one grandparent when you were younger, but you could barely remember it. This had only made all the cases you’d researched more chilling. 

“Can you… urm,” Sam stopped, scratching the back of his neck. “Can you come back to my place for a drink? Could use the company,” he blushed slightly. 

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded in agreement, offering him a comforting smile. You followed him towards his new place as he explained that their apartment was still a crime scene, so he’d managed to temporarily rent somewhere for the time being. You wondered if you were him, if you could ever go back at all. Would he not see Jess everytime he walked into the bedroom? Sam opened the door to the studio flat and you stepped in first. 

“This is nice and… cosy,” you concluded carefully. 

“It’s okay, drink?” he asked, already heading over to his kitchen. 

“Sure,” you agreed, placing your bag down on the couch as you followed him over. 

Sam opened the fridge and grabbed you both a beer, handing you yours as you twisted off the cap. 

“So you like crime stories,” Sam stated, “wanna know what they think happened?” he asked casually, taking a swig of beer as his eyes stayed on you. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Sam,” you insisted, shaking your head. You felt embarrassed that he’d even approached it like that. 

“Well there’s a hundred different versions floating around and I want you to know the truth,” he told you, licking his lips of beer. 

“Only if you’re sure,” you smiled weakly. Sam set his beer down on the kitchen counter and leaned on his arms as he sighed heavily. 

“It’s still an open investigation, but this is the theory so far,” Sam started. “There was no sign of forced entry or a break in, so we’re assuming that Jess let him in willingly. We’re not sure why. Once he was inside he forced her into the bedroom, raped her and strangled her to death with his bare hands.” Sam finished his statement with a long swig of beer. 

Your mouth fell open and you were rendered speechless. You’d heard worse, much much worse thanks to your research, but knowing that had happened to someone you knew, someone Sam was so close to, sent shivers down your spine. 

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” you gasped out, not even sure what you could say. 

“He’s denying it, of course, bastard,” Sam scoffed. 

“How did they figure out it was him?” you asked.

“CCTV of him going to our apartment, he left, panicked and when they arrested him and took his DNA, his fingerprints matched the ones on her neck and the traces of semen they found inside her matched too,” Sam explained. You felt sick, not even wanting the beer going warm in your grasp, but you took a sip anyway, needing something to wet your dry mouth and hopefully take the edge off somewhat. 

“What’s his story?” you pried. Sam scoffed, a smirk curling over his lips, but you could tell he was pissed off more than anything.

“Son of a bitch is claiming they were having some kind of affair and that she wanted him to do that to her. Said he accidentally took it too far.” 

“So he’s admitted he did it?” Sam clenched his jaw at your question. 

“The bastard is fucking lying. Jess would never cheat on me, NEVER!” he shouted, causing you to jump. “I’m sorry, this is taking its toll,” he sighed, calmer now. 

“Don’t apologise, Sam. I’m here for you, no matter what. Whatever you need, okay?”


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Tags:** angst, talk of murder, talk of rape, legal stuff I know nothing about, probably factually incorrect legal talk, mentions of affair, mentions of cheating, mentions of choking during sex, more angst, angry!Sam

**Chapter WC:** 3783

**A/Ns:** I am clueless when it comes to court and law beyond all the crime docs I've seen so this could be soooo inaccurate but enjoy anyway :') 

\- - - 

**_Sam’s POV_ **

  
  


**MONDAY 8th MAY 2006**

The court fell silent as the judge hammered down his gavel. Sam’s jaw clenched as his hazel eyes fell upon his former fellow sophomore. He looked petrified, white as a ghost and nervously shaking his legs as he stood before his seat, lawyers on either side of him.  _ Good  _ was all Sam could think. He should be petrified. Son of a bitch is getting locked up for life. How dare he take Jess away from him. How dare he take what was his. 

“You may sit,” the judge announced. Sam sat down on the bench once more, feeling a hand land on his thigh and offer him a reassuring squeeze. He dragged his eyes from Taylor and they landed on Y/N and her soft, sad smile. He was glad she’d come with him for this. He liked her company. 

“This is the hearing and trial for the homicide of Miss Jessica Lee Moore, commencing on Monday the eighth of May, two thousand and six, at nine am. The defendant on trial is one, Mr Taylor Justin Marvin. Council, the court is ready to hear your opening statements.” The prosecution was first, the lawyer that Sam and Jess’ parents had spent hours in deliberation with, Raymond, stood up and cleared his throat, smoothing down his tie and buttoning his suit jacket.

He approached the jury and stood before them. Harrowing silence loomed through the room as Y/N’s hand slowly slipped from Sam’s leg, but he was quick to seek it out again, placing his large hand over hers softly, between their bodies on the bench. He didn’t want her to leave. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’re about to hear will be uncomfortable and upsetting. Jessica was only twenty one when she was murdered by the man sitting just behind me. A man that she was friendly with, that she trusted, a man she shared classes with at Stanford. As you know, Stanford is a prestigious school which only proves that Jessica was a bright young woman with her whole future ahead of her. She had a loving boyfriend with whom she’d made future plans with, she had hopes and dreams like any ambitious twenty one year old would, and she had a family that loved her immensely, a family you are going to see sitting in the court every day that this trial stretches on for. 

“So like I said, what you hear throughout this trial is going to be difficult, and uncomfortable and maybe even upsetting, but we need you to hear it all, in hopes that you will bring some justice to what has happened to Jessica, and punishment to the man that decided to take her beautiful life from her.” 

Y/N’s hand clenched into a fist beneath Sam’s, and when he looked over at her, he noticed she was watery eyed and swallowing down a lump in her throat. There was another silence, filled by the shuffling and screeching of wooden chairs along tiles, before the defending lawyer rose to his feet and took his own place in front of the jury. He started to talk, but Sam couldn’t concentrate on his words, feeling himself too wound up with all the ways that bastard was trying to get out of this. All the lies he was telling to tarnish Jess’s name, just to make him look better. Sam clenched his jaw, hating Jess wasn’t here to give her own truth, to defend herself. He realised he was gripping Y/N’s hand hard when she attempted to pull it away but couldn’t, and Sam snapped out of his thoughts to gently let her go, so she could reach into her purse for her tissues. She offered one to Sam but he shook his head silently. 

He glanced over to the other side of the room, seeing that bastard’s family. His parents were sitting directly behind him, his mother already sobbing into her handkerchief, and Sam wondered if she was going to insist on crying the whole time, or if she’d eventually shut up. When Sam had first learned the process of court in class, he wondered why trials took weeks and sometimes months, but as he continued to sit there, living through it all, experiencing it for himself for the first time, it was starting to make sense.  _ Just show the evidence and lock the son of a bitch away already  _ was all that was running through Sam’s head the more they droned on. It was already time for a lunch break when introductions had just finished being made, and Sam knew he was in for a gruelling few weeks.

  
  


**THURSDAY 11th MAY 2006**

Sam wiped his sweaty palms on his pants legs as he looked out at the court and swallowed thickly. Luckily, Raymond was the first person to question him, which put him more at ease. He had sworn an oath on the bible, and now he was waiting for the questions to start. He’d already been briefed about what kinds of questions he’d be asked by Raymond, and had even been told what to expect when the defence questioned him too. He knew his part to play and he was going to play it well. 

“Sam, you were Jessica’s long term boyfriend, correct?”

“Yes,” Sam confirmed, nodding his head. 

“How did you meet Jess?” 

“We met at a college party and we hit it off straight away, and started dating a couple of weeks later.” 

“You attended Stanford together, correct?” Raymond asked. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” Sam glanced at the jury, but didn’t look for long. He’d been told not to pay them too much attention, in case it seemed like he was trying to persuade them in some way. 

Instead, Sam looked past Raymond’s shoulder to Y/N as she sat in the second row, watching on nervously. She looked gorgeous in the simple navy dress she’d opted to wear that day, her bottom lip caught anxiously between her teeth, and Sam had to stop the smile spreading too far on his lips, but he hoped it would pass off as him remembering Jess fondly instead. 

“How long were you and Jessica together, Sam?” 

“A-about eighteen months. We urm - we lived together and we talked about our plans after college like buying a house, getting married, you know all the usual stuff.” 

Raymond gave him a sympathetic smile before asking, “so if you were talking about marriage then you were both happy?” 

“Yes, very happy. Our relationship was perfect. We never fought. Jess was my person, you know…  _ the one  _ or whatever it is they say. That was her, that was Jess.”

“So you never suspected that she could be unhappy with you? Enough to cheat on you?”

“No, no way. Not Jess. Not my Jess. She’d never - no,” Sam was getting flustered, shaking his head over and over as he tried to keep himself calm. He knew showing his anger was a bad move, he needed to seem sad and broken, not hot headed and irrational. 

“Okay, thank you, Sam.” Raymond offered him a smile that told him he’d done well, and Sam reached forward with a shaking hand to grab his glass of water and sip it. His mouth was incredibly dry. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths as the defending lawyer rose to his feet and approached the stand. From what Sam remembered, his name was Stephen. Sam licked his lips anxiously, and tried to not come across as defensive, despite wanting to punch the man in the face after some of the things he’d said or insinuated about Jess. He was trying to make her seem like some slut that slept around. As if Jess’ promiscuity, or lack of, was any excuse for her to be murdered. 

“Mr Winchester, is it true that you and Jessica had very different class schedules?” Stephen asked. 

“Yes, I mean, we studied different subjects.”

“And what days did you have time to spend together?”

“Mainly weekends, Thursday afternoons and Monday mornings.”

“But there would be times when one of you would be in class whilst the other wasn’t?”

“Ye-yes, Jess didn’t have classes on Thursdays or Wednesday mornings. And I didn’t have classes on Tuesday or Friday afternoons,” Sam explained carefully. 

“So you could say that there were a lot of times when you wouldn’t be aware of what Jessica was doing, and who she was doing it with?” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly. “Jess told me everything, she always told me about her day and we constantly kept in touch via text.”

“But these are all things that she would’ve  _ told  _ you she’d done. How were you to know for sure when you just admitted you were in classes?”

“Jess didn’t lie to me,” Sam spat through gritted teeth. 

“Are you sure about that? Perhaps she was a good storyteller.” Raymond rose to his feet behind Stephen.

“Objection, your honor, speculation,” he announced. 

“Sustained,” the judge agreed. The man before Sam didn’t seem undeterred, clearly the point he wanted to make had now been made and could not be taken back. Sam couldn’t say with certainty that Jess wasn’t lying, but he’d always trusted her, he had no reason not to, and he couldn’t bear the thought of Jess being able to pull the wool over his eyes for that long. 

“Mr Winchester, is it true that two weeks before Jessica’s death you had a fight which led to Jessica staying at her friend Amy’s apartment for the night?” Sam’s jaw twitched. Amy was such a fucking blabber mouth. 

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

“Can I ask what the fight was about?” 

“Objection! Your honor, Mr Winchester isn’t the one on trial here. He has been proven innocent of any involvement on several different occasions,” Raymond argued. 

“Your honor,” Stephen spoke up, referring to the judge now, “the aim isn’t to incriminate Mr Winchester, I’m merely trying to make a point that his relationship with Miss Moore wasn’t as perfect as he’s making it sound.” The objection was overruled. 

Sam clenched his jaw again and tried to remain neutral. 

“Mr Winchester, where were you again when Jessica was murdered?” 

“At a friend’s dorm,” Sam replied through gritted teeth. 

“Is that friend a Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” 

“Yes,” Sam sighed, glancing at her for barely a second. The mention of her name had her eyes widening slightly. 

“The woman who has been attending court with you?” 

“That’s correct.” 

“You two seem very  _ close,  _ are you sure you are just friends?” 

“Yes. Y/N has been there for me more than anyone since Jess died. She’s been a great support. Why, can’t a man and woman be friends without anything sexual happening?” Sam snapped. 

“And nothing  _ sexual,  _ has ever happened between the two of you?” There was a glint in Stephen’s eye as if he knew the answer, but unless Y/N had opened her mouth, no one would know for sure. It couldn’t be proven beyond reasonable doubt. 

“Objection, your honor, relevancy?”

“Your honor, Mr Winchester brought it up,” Stephen defended. Sam knew he was being goaded, the twat was purposefully trying to piss him off, make it seem like Sam was lying about his relationship with Jess. Maybe if Sam looked like he had a hot head that flipped his lid, they’d believe Jess would cheat on him. It’s like Stephen had forgotten that Sam was studying law. He was learning every trick they were throwing his way. 

“No, nothing sexual,” Sam lied, easily and casually. “We are just friends. I copied her notes from class that day and I left.” Once more it seemed Stephen had made his point because he didn’t push Sam any harder. Instead he stepped back. 

“No more questions, your honor.” And Sam was allowed down off the stand. 

  
  


**TUESDAY, 16th MAY 2006**

Y/N had been quiet with Sam since the day he took the stand. He wasn’t sure if she was upset that he’d called her  _ just a friend  _ when clearly, there was something more starting between them, or maybe she felt unnerved that her name had been brought up in a murder trial. Either way, there wasn’t much Sam could do about it, so he tried not to worry. But when Y/N once again barely replied to him as they were waiting outside the courtroom that morning, Sam had had enough. He gripped the top of Y/N’s arm and pulled her to a quieter corner of the hallway. 

“What’s wrong with you at the moment?” he huffed. 

“Nothing, Sam, guess the trial is just taking its toll, it’s heavy.” She hugged herself as she looked down at her feet. Sam sighed heavily and nodded in agreement. It hadn’t been his favourite thing, either. “Sam,” she spoke up again, looking up at him, “you lied so easily up on the stand last week.” Sam glanced around nervously for anyone who could hear them, but no one seemed to have. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he grunted. 

“You were under oath.” 

Sam ducked his head, closer to her face so he could lower his voice some more. 

“You didn’t need to be dragged into this. If they knew the truth then you’d be up on that stand next. They’re trying to make it seem like me and Jess had a bad relationship and we didn’t. What happened between us… me and you… that had never happened before with anyone else. But do you think the jury would believe that? If they even think it’s  _ possible  _ that Jess wasn’t happy and cheated on me, then that prick will be found innocent.” Y/N looked at him with watery eyes, before nodding her head gently. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Sam smiled softly at her and squeezed her upper arm. 

“Y/N, you know I played down our relationship that day, right?” he asked her, noticing the very slight glimmer of hope in her eyes. “You’re more than just a friend.” 

Before Y/N could reply the courtroom doors were opening, and Sam led the way to their usual spot on the second row. Everyone took their seats and waited for court to begin. Sam was sure they were getting close to the end now. They had to be. What more could be said? Forensics had been in to confirm that all the DNA found on Jess’ body was Taylor’s, confirming they had had sex, but they frustratingly couldn’t conclude that it was rape, as there was no signs of damage or distress to that area of her body. They could, however, confirm that she died by strangulation. Taylor had been smart enough not to deny that much, admitting that he did choke her and didn’t stop until she was no longer responding. His story had not changed, and that infuriated Sam. He was still claiming that they were having some kind of affair, that Jess had asked for him to choke her, they’d agreed on a  _ safe word  _ which she didn’t use and then, suddenly, it was too late. Sam found the entire alibi laughable. Surely no one would believe that? 

It was another day for evidence, and a large screen was wheeled into the courtroom. Stephen rose to his feet and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very sight of him. 

“I’d like to make it clear to the jury that these following text messages you will be reading have been certified by the network providers as genuine messages sent and received at the correct time shown. The right hand messages are Taylor and the left are Jessica.” Sam swallowed hard. Why were they showing text messages between Jess and this guy? Sam wasn’t even aware that they spoke. 

“On the 10th of September 2005, Jessica wrote  _ “Please don’t tell anyone about last night. Sam can’t find out it would break his heart.”  _ To which Taylor replied,  _ “I won’t. Our secret is safe. I don’t regret it though. Do you?”  _ Jessica replied  _ “I should, but I don’t”.”  _ Stephen read out what was on the screen. Sam’s eyes widened. But the secret could be anything, right? His mind started to spin a little as Stephen spoke up again. “These texts confirm Taylor’s statement that he and Jessica began their affair in September. Of course we won’t sit here and show you every message exchanged between the two of them as we don’t have a lot of time to do so. But we have selected a few for you to read that back up Taylor’s alibi. If we move on a couple more weeks to… 26th September 2005, Jessica wrote  _ “I’ve had to change your name in my cell and delete our texts. This feels wrong but when I’m with you it feels right.”  _ And again, a couple weeks later on the 5th October she wrote  _ “Sam’s got classes all day. Want to come over?”  _ to which Taylor replied,  _ “Are you making me your booty call? L-O-L”  _ and Jessica replied, “ _ Is that a problem  _ with a winky face emoticon.” 

Sam could barely keep still, he wanted to storm to the front of the courtroom and punch Taylor square in the mouth, and Stephen for that matter. How could Jess do this? How could she go behind his back like this? He’d been outsmarted by a dumb blonde slut. His blood was boiling under his skin, and he could no longer hear what anyone was saying. The sound of the courtroom doors opening behind them caused Sam to turn around, and the person walking through them only made him more angry. Green eyes fell on him and a cheeky grin was flashed in his direction. 

“Sorry,” he announced, holding his hands up as he slid into the back bench. 

“Who is that?” Y/N whispered next to him. Sam didn’t reply, getting up out of his seat and gripping a hold of the brown leather jacket clad man on his way to the door. 

As soon as the doors were closed behind them he spoke up. 

“Alright, Sammy?” 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Dean?” Sam growled. 

“Sorry, probably an insensitive question, what with the trial and everything,” Dean rambled, scratching the back of his neck. Sam glanced around them and grabbed Dean’s arm again, pulling him outside the courthouse so they were definitely out of earshot from the trial. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here, Dean?” Sam repeated louder. 

“I came to show my support, asshole,” Dean grumbled, shrugging his arm free. Sam saw just behind Dean that the impala was parked up. 

“Go home,” he grunted. 

“Wow, no  _ Hi Dean, nice to see you too. Thanks for coming _ . Yeah missed you too, bro. Oh I’m fine by the way. Dad’s fine too. Didn't just drive across country for two days to be here or anything.” 

“Jess has been dead for over six months, Dean. What do you want, a medal for finally showing your face?” Sam retorted. 

“Well I’m here now, alright? It’s a long drive, you know.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ you here, Dean,” Sam spat out. Dean frowned. 

“Why?” Dean looked perplexed by the very idea that Sam might not want him around, after all they used to be nearly inseparable, and god forbid Sam wanted  _ something _ , one shred of life without Dean. 

“Because you just made a fucking scene in the middle of a murder trial. I’m  _ trying  _ to prove that I’m a decent human being.” Dean’s face fell. He stared his brother out for several seconds before scoffing. “Oh I get it. I’m showing you up?" 

“I didn’t say that, Dean,” Sam huffed. 

“You didn’t fucking have to. Because you’re Mr Stanford now, right? Good enough for college but not good enough for your family? You know what? Screw you.” 

"No, screw  _ you _ , Dean. Don't you dare make me feel guilty for wanting more from my life than what Dad was offering."

"You know what, Sammy? Dad told me not to come here and I should’ve fucking listened to him. You think you’re so much better than us now? Because it doesn’t fucking seem like you’ve got it good at all from where I’m standing.”

Sam didn’t want Dean’s pity, he didn’t need it, he’d done fine without him. Dean being around would’ve changed nothing for Jess. 

“It’s still better than working in that same shitty bar that Dad neglected us for all those years. At least I got out of Kansas.” 

“Yeah, well you can fucking stay out of it.” The venom in Dean’s voice rolled off Sam’s back like it was nothing, and clearly that only angered Dean more as he shoved hard on Sam’s chest. 

“Sam?” Y/N sounded from behind them. Dean stepped back, and Sam turned his head to look at her. She glanced past him to his brother. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m fucking goin’, know when I’m not wanted.” Dean turned on his heels and stormed off towards the Impala. 

“Everything okay?” She checked cautiously, watching after Dean. 

“That’s my brother,” Sam sighed. “What happened in there? What have I missed?” he asked, turning around to face her completely. Y/N bit her bottom lip anxiously and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just tell me Y/N,” he demanded, not in the mood to have to pry it out of her.

“There were texts from the day she died. It confirmed his whole story, Sam. And then… then there was a-” she swallowed hard, eyes wide and fearful.  _ Spit it out. “ _ A video. She asked for it. Jess asked him to choke her.”

  
  


**FRIDAY 19th MAY 2006**

Three hours. It had only taken the jury three hours to reach their verdict. That meant the decision was unanimous according to Raymond. The head juror was a short, plump woman, short brown hair and glasses balanced on the tip of her nose. 

“Have you reached your verdict?” the judge asked her. 

“We have, your honor,” she confirmed. 

“Everyone please rise for the reading of the verdict.” Sam stood on his feet, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited. “Do you find the defendant, Taylor Justin Marvin guilty of murder in the first degree?” 

“Your honor, we find the defendant not guilty.” Sam’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening in front of him. 

“Do you find the defendant, Taylor Justin Marvin guilty of manslaughter?” 

“Your honor, we find the defendant guilty.” That was something at least, not that the prick had denied that much, but at least he was going down for it. But Sam was still angry at the entire situation. Angry at that bastard for fucking his girl, angry at Jess for cheating, and angry at himself for being taken a fool of by both of them. 

"Taylor, it is unfortunate what happened, a mistake that could've been avoided. You seem like a smart young man, but we cannot overlook that you took the life of a young woman. And for that reason… Taylor Marvin, I sentence you to five years imprisonment. Good luck with your future, my condolences to Jessica's family and friends, I hope you find peace from this trial. I pronounce this case closed.” 

His gavel hit the desk with a loud thud, and the room alit in chatter. Sam felt Y/N reach for his arm and squeeze it reassuringly. 

“Sam, I’m sorry,” she sighed, heavily. “I know you wanted more.”  _ Five years  _ was all that was swimming around Sam’s mind as he felt his anger reach near breaking point. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunted to her, already leading the way to his car. He never wanted to step foot in another courtroom again. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Tags:** mentions of murder, mentions of cheating, angry!Sam, angst, smut, rough smut, p in v

**Chapter WC:** 2226

[ ](https://www.patreon.com/posts/40262966)

\- - -

  
  


**_Your POV_ **

  
  


Sam was painfully silent the whole drive back to Stanford, and the quiet meant your head was loud. You kept thinking about the messages and the  _ video  _ between Jess and Taylor over and over again. True, you didn’t know Jess all that well - at least not the  _ real _ Jess. You knew some idolised, blonde, beautiful perfection that Sam held her up to be. But still, even other people’s opinions of her never seemed to regard her as the type of girl who could cheat, especially not on someone as loyal and caring as Sam. Everyone loved their relationship, everyone loved how 90s rom-com they were about each other. They really did seem as perfect as Sam painted them out to be. But they couldn’t have been perfect, could they? Even by Sam’s standards, something had to have been wrong. He had slept with you, after all. Albeit, it was a mistake - one he was adamant he had no intention of making twice, but something had to have been wrong for Sam to even make it in the first place. 

  
  


And then there was Jess. Sweet, friendly, everyone loved her, Jess. She hadn’t just made one mistake, she’d made  _ several,  _ a whole affair’s worth of mistakes. But why? If she didn’t love Sam, she could’ve left. Taylor was a good looking guy, sure, but he was nothing compared to Sam. Funny, understanding, sensitive Sam who had done such a good job at holding it together for the last six months. Taylor was a fuck boy, the whole college knew it. The conveyor belt of girls that he had going through his room was endless, and besides you, you wondered what girls he  _ hadn’t  _ slept with. So what did Jess see in him? More importantly, what did Jess see in him above Sam? You glanced across at him, noticing the way his jaw twitched, something you’d learned meant he was angry. His knuckles were practically white as he clung to dear life onto the steering wheel. His hazel eyes were fixed to the road as if he were trying to burn a hole in it. 

  
  


And you were afraid to speak. Afraid to say anything to break the silence that loomed between you, afraid of upsetting him further or interrupting whatever internal monologue was screaming inside his head. Besides, you had no idea what you could even say. You’d said sorry a million times,  _ sorry for Jess, sorry she’s dead, sorry we had sex, sorry she cheated, sorry the sentence wasn’t enough, sorry I can’t fix this. I’m just sorry.  _ Nothing you said would mean a thing to him, not when he was like this. He parked up the car (you’d barely even registered that you’d pulled into the college) and just as silently as the journey had been, you both got out. It was like muscle memory at this point that you both headed towards your dorm room. Sam was back at his apartment now, the one he found Jess dead in, but he spent most of his time with you in your dorm. Not that you could blame him, you couldn’t even step foot through his front door without feeling a heavy weight hit you. 

  
  


You arrived at your door to find a brown padded envelope on the mat. Reaching down to retrieve it, you ripped into the top carelessly as you opened the door and let you both inside. Thumbing through the papers, you realised it was the literature notes you’d missed from class that day and tossed them onto the bed, deciding you’d worry about that later. Your concerns lay heavily with the tall grieving man who was mindlessly glancing over the crime scene photos pinned to your wall. A new case this time; this killer picked prostitutes, decapitated them and used their heads like some real life Barbie they could make over. You still stumbled over words of comfort for several seconds before it came to you. It wasn’t pity or some sort of comforting chick flick spiel that Sam needed. In fact, you had no clue what he needed, and that was the whole point.

“What do you need, Sam?” you asked quietly. Sam blinked at you, like he was thrown off your question. He reached up and tugged on his tie to loosen it, before giving up on it entirely and pulling it apart. 

  
  


“I’m pissed,” he stated the obvious, throwing his tie to the floor before reaching up and unbuttoning the top three buttons on his shirt. You shouldn’t look, at least not the way you were looking, but you couldn’t help yourself. The way his eyes were darker, hair falling into them. His jaw looked more defined when he clenched it. His shoulders squared more because he was tense. It was all enough to make heat pool between your legs, to make you remember the way he pinned you to the very wall his attention kept returning to. But it was unfair of you to want that from him. He was grieving.

  
  


So you tried to forget the feeling that had been getting stronger and stronger for the past six months, you tried to push down the urge to give him the type of love that he'd wanted from Jess, that she clearly wasn't capable of. You tried to ignore the voices that wanted to tell Sam that you could be that person, that you'd never hurt him the way she did. But it was unfair of you to lay that on him. It was unfair of you to hold it against him when he told you you were more than a friend in that courthouse that day, yet left you hanging on the statement wondering what the hell he meant, because nothing between you was changing. And maybe he was falling for you too, but maybe he needed time. Maybe he had changed his mind, that was okay too, no doubt his thoughts were scrambled right now. You just wanted to be there for him in whatever way he needed you to be.

“What can I do?” you asked next. Sam's eyes finally landed on you and he stepped forward, now directly in front of you. He reached up for the side of your face and sighed heavily.

“Nothing, I mean... nothing that we  _ should  _ do.” He looked at you like he was full of regret - regret for what you didn't know.

“What can I do, Sam? I'll do anything,” you prompted, reaching up to grip his wrist as he continued to hold your face.

“I need to get this anger out somehow,” he told you. His eyes left yours and glanced over your entire body slowly.

“Use me,” you whispered. Sam's eyes shot back to your face. “Use me, Sam,” you encouraged, gripping his wrist as you guided it down towards your chest.

Sam's eyes stared longingly at your chest as his large hand ghosted your one breast.

“What if I hurt you?” he finally asked.

“You won't. I trust you, Sam. I can handle a bit of rough.” He looked back up at you, like he was making sure you were telling the truth, and you knew he wouldn't find any hesitation on your face. His hand slipped away from your breast, back up your neck, and you drew a shuddered breath, nerves settling in, but you wanted this – no, you  _ craved  _ it. Sam's hand curled around to the back of your neck and he pulled you forward harshly, crushing his lips with yours. You gasped for breath, feeling the need and anger in his kiss as he knocked the air out of your lungs, and you both began scrambling to remove clothes. You reached up and undid more of the buttons on Sam's shirt, pushing your hands underneath the fabric so you could slide it down his arms. Sam reached for the zipper on the back of your dress as the material loosened around your frame and slipped down your arms. You shrugged it off, feeling it pool at your feet and jumped into Sam's arms as he carried you over to your bed and lay you down on it.

He left you lying there as he stood back up to his full height at the foot of your bed and tore into his slacks, pushing them and his boxers down his legs and revealing his half hard erection. It was something you hadn't stopped thinking about, although you hadn't seen it last time, you could still remember how it felt, how he’d made you feel. It was something you couldn't let go of, and there was a tremendous guilt in your stomach like a lead balloon when you thought about all the times you'd used your memory for some quick relief, despite knowing the bitter truth that at that very moment, his girlfriend was back in their apartment taking her last breath. But the thought was swept away with the breeze that fanned over your half naked body, leaving goosebumps in its wake as Sam climbed onto the bed and over you. He sat back on his heels between your legs and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tearing them down your legs quickly before throwing them over his shoulder.

He gripped your wrists, one in each large hand as he continued to lean over you, pinning your arms above your head almost painfully hard, but you didn't complain. You'd asked for this. He brought one wrist to the other, capturing them both in one large hand with ease as he brought his now free hand down between your bodies and you felt the swell of his erection press against your opening. He thrust forward hard and fast, giving you no time to adjust as he grunted loudly. His free hand gripped at your hip, leaving fingerprint bruises in its wake, and you moaned loudly at the way he was stretching you out. It was uncomfortable, but something about it – the pain – was also delicious and making you crave more. Your hands clenched into fists in his grasp, and you arched your back the best you could off of the bed. Sam barely regarded you, eyes closed, hips snapping against yours over and over and over as he used your body as stress relief, like you'd encouraged him to do.

“Fuck, yes,” Sam grunted, finally opening his eyes and looking down at you, hair sprawled across his face that twisted with a mixture of anger, hatred and disgust. You told yourself, as rationally as you could with the brutal force of his assault, that he wasn't angry at you, that none of this was aimed at you, that you  _ wanted  _ this to happen, but you couldn't ignore that look, the one you never wanted to see him give you.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” you panted out quickly, “stop.” He growled down at you, only snapping his hips forward harder. “Sam, stop,” you told him more clearly, less breathy. He stilled, not pulling out, but no longer thrusting either. “I can't do this, I'm sorry,” you confessed, tears in your eyes.

“You said it was okay,” he reminded you, frustration in his tone.

“I know, I'm sorry, but I can't. This – this isn't right, Sam. You're grieving Jess, you don't even want me and that's okay. I thought I was okay with that, but I'm not.” You tried to sit up, encouraging Sam to pull back and sit back on his heels again. You grabbed a pillow to your side and used it to cover your body as best as you could.

“But I do want you, Y/N,” he confirmed.

You shook your head. Whether it was because you didn't believe him or didn't  _ want  _ to believe him, you weren't sure.

“You loved Jess, I'll never replace her.”

“Fuck Jess, I don't want you to. That bitch cheated on me, remember?” Sam snapped.

“ _ We  _ cheated, Sam,” you reminded him, swallowing hard at the mention of the unspeakable.

“No,” Sam grunted, stepping off the bed and reaching down for his slacks as he roughly pulled them back up his legs. “No, that was a mistake. One mistake. She fucked him  _ multiple  _ times.”

“That doesn't make it right,” you sighed. 

“No, fuck you, Y/N.” You told yourself not to take it personally, what had happened between you that day was still a touchy subject, despite everything that had come to light. Sam didn't want to be that guy that cheated, you knew that, but that didn't make your words any less true.

“I'm nothing like her, I'm-” Sam stopped, picking up his shirt as he pulled it back on.

“Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to upset you even more I-” But Sam stormed out of your dorm before you could finish your sentence, his shirt still unbuttoned and his tie remained laying on the floor where he'd left it. Your door was wide open for any passers by to see you sitting there naked, trying your best to cover up with a pillow, but you didn't care. You'd tried to fix Sam, but you'd only made him worse. Maybe there was no fixing him at all, and you had to be prepared for that.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Tags:** angry!Sam, drunk!Sam, amateur pornography, choking, smut,  **dub/non-con, violence, murder,** arousal from murder, talk of dead body

**Chapter WC:** 4671(this one got away from me haha)

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\- - -

**_Sam's POV_ **

Sam slumped down into the driver's seat of his car and screamed at the windscreen, punching the centre of his steering wheel as the horn blasted out abruptly. The night was upon them now, the darkness pooling around him as the odd small group of students walked past. Sam threw his head back against his seat, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. Who  _ the fuck  _ did she think she was? Trying to make  _ him  _ feel guilty for what she knew was a mistake. As if him having sex with her then meant he loved Jess any less, when she was the one that had seduced  _ him  _ that time around _.  _ Jess had been gone for over six months now, and he'd been with no one but Y/N since that day. He was only human. Besides, the sex was working until she went and said all that. The anger was red hot under Sam's skin as he tried to disperse any pent up energy as best as he could whilst contained in the driver's seat of a car. He gripped the steering wheel before letting it go and running his fingers through his hair. A drink, he needed a drink.

He pulled off and headed back to his apartment but as he parked up outside and ducked his head to look at the window into his place, he couldn't bring himself to go inside. The anger was still too fresh. Not just because of Y/N and what she'd said, but because of that blonde slut and what she'd done in that very bed he shared with her night after night. What she'd done with someone else. What she'd done with some player who didn't give a single shit about anything but getting off. Who the fuck did she think she was, asking  _ that guy  _ for something that she had never asked of Sam? And the stupid son of a bitch only got  _ five years  _ for taking her life. Sam yelled again, the pent up frustration getting the better of him once more.

He pushed himself out of the car, slamming the door shut as hard as possible, making the entire vehicle shake. He started to walk, anything to use up some of this energy. He should've gone back to Y/N's place, apologised to her, fucked her the way he wanted to, found some sort of healthy release, but the very thought of her and what she'd said still sat thick in his brain, like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Maybe there was truth in her words he didn't want to hear, but Sam didn't care at that moment in time. He made his way into a local store as he passed it, heading towards the liquor and his eyes scanned the shelves for something strong. He grasped a bottle of whiskey and pulled it off the shelf, taking it over to the till and throwing a twenty dollar bill down on the counter.

“You got any ID?” the store clerk asked, unenthusiastically.

“Really? Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam snapped. Sam knew the twenty dollars on the counter would more than cover the bottle and turned around, walking out before the clerk could protest. It's not like he stole the damn thing. He unscrewed the lid as soon as the fresh night air hit his face, and let the tin cap drop to the floor without any intentions of picking it up again. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he took several swigs, the burn at the back of his throat welcoming. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and continued to walk aimlessly, pretty sure there was a bar in that direction a few blocks away. As Sam continued to swig his whiskey, his mind started to wander, more and more back to the trial, to everything that Sam had been oblivious to. How could he not figure out Jess was fucking some other dickhead behind his back? The whole trial made him look like an idiot. He sat up there and told everyone how  _ perfect  _ they were, how she was  _ the one _ and then he looked like a prized fool when those texts came out.

And the video, the video Sam missed thanks to Dean. He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Part of him didn't want to see the proof, didn't want to see Jess with someone else, definitely not in that way. But there had been rumours ever since the damned thing had been played in the courtroom. Sam was  _ humiliated.  _ Y/N had barely spoken about it, even when Sam asked about it. All she said was it had been censored, but it was still enough to be undeniable evidence in favour of Taylor's story. But Sam couldn't handle that. He couldn't accept it. He needed to see it for himself. He needed to see it. He found himself taking a left turn without even thinking about it, and when his brain caught up with itself, he realised he was heading towards a friend's house.  _ Ash _ . Ash would know how he could get hold of the video.

He couldn't exactly ask Raymond for a copy, could he? He wouldn't understand this need that Sam had to see if for himself. He probably wasn't even aware that Sam wasn't in the courtroom when it was played. But Ash was a whizz kid at these things, if it was hackable, Ash could hack into it. And Sam knew he wouldn't ask too many questions if his pockets were lined with enough green. Sam didn't think twice on the decision, his mind was made up. He didn't second guess himself when he knocked on Ash's door, or when Ash answered and Sam told him he had a job for him. He didn't change his mind when Ash let him into his apartment and Sam explained exactly what he wanted from him, and he didn't bat an eyelid handing over fifty bucks as incentive.

“Are you sure, man? I mean... maybe you don't wanna see it. I've heard it's... _ graphic.”  _ Ash tried to deter him the entire time he typed away.

“Do it, Ash,” Sam grunted, taking another swig of his now almost empty bottle.

“Dude, you're wasted,” Ash scorned. Sam glared at the side of his friend's head as he lounged back on Ash's bed and waited. “Okay, I've got it. Censored or uncensored?” he asked with a sigh.

“Uncensored,” Sam replied without hesitating. Sam had seen it all before, he'd  _ felt, kissed, fucked  _ it all before, anyway.

“This isn't going to bring her back, Sam. And it's not gonna give Taylor any more time in prison.”

“Everyone in that courtroom saw my girlfriend getting fucked and choked to death by that son of a bitch. I think I deserve to see it too.”

Ash sighed again. “That's the thing, man. You don't  _ deserve  _ to see that-”

“Send it, Ash.” Sam was growing impatient.

Ash did a little more typing and Sam's cell pinged in his pocket. Sam fished his phone out to see an email from some unknown source he assumed was Ash covering his tracks.

“Thanks, and don't fucking watch it.” Sam rose to his feet, already heading for Ash's door.

“Trust me, I won't. You don't wanna stick around?” Ash asked, sounding hopeful.

“No.” Sam's reply was blunt, but the alcohol dowsing his blood stopped him caring. He left the apartment before Ash could say anything else on the matter, and continued his walk towards the local bar. He stared at the attached file in the email most of the way there, swallowing the last dregs of his whiskey and throwing the bottle onto the floor with a satisfying smash. He watched the pieces of glass scatter along the sidewalk and glitter in the moonlight for a moment, before his attention was brought back to the video. He needed to be more drunk for that.

He slipped into a booth in the back corner of some hole in the wall bar and let his eyes scan the other punters, before picking up his fresh whiskey. Luckily, he hadn't been asked for ID this time, maybe the stress of the trial was finally taking its toll on his baby face, aging him just a enough, maybe the red head behind the bar was too distracted by the look Sam gave her that honestly Dean would be proud of. He wasn't sure why, maybe he just wanted to know he was still desirable to someone. He sighed and looked down at his cell, once more hovering his eyes over the file. He clicked it before he could change his mind again and the grainy video sprung to life on his screen. Cameras on cells were hardly great, but it was enough, it was enough for Sam to know he wasn't going to like this.

He turned the volume up on his phone a couple more notches, not even caring if anyone else heard it and slid further into the booth, swallowed by the shadows of the corner of the room. The video skipped and jumped, terrible quality - but it still made a lump form in Sam's throat as he saw Jess,  _ his Jess _ ,  _ sweet, funny everyone loves Jess _ , on her back, hair sprawled out like a crown around her head, her entire skin flushed that way that Sam knew too well. A hand that wasn't Sam's came into view, palming at her chest and her mouth fell open in that way that Sam had always loved, as she moaned and smirked up at the camera, like she was looking right at him. But she wasn't. She was looking at  _ him.  _ She was fucking  _ him.  _ Sam couldn't peel his eyes away, like some car crash as he waited to see the blood and gore, the face smashed through the windscreen that he knew was going to haunt him for a long time.

Jess –  _ video Jess  _ – reached for the hand at her breast and guided it towards her throat.

“Choke me,” she demanded breathlessly.

“Yeah? That's what you want? Dirty girl.” Sam's stomach churned with alcohol, lack of food and the grating drawl of that bastard's voice. His jaw ached when he clenched it impossibly harder as he watched Taylor oblige, wrapping his hand around her delicate throat. Sam knew how this ended, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. Not until her eyes fluttered closed and the video came to an abrupt end. Sam dropped his phone, rubbed a sweaty hand down his face and finished his drink. He slid himself out of the booth and immediately headed towards the bar, needing another drink now more than ever.

He hung his head low between his shoulders as he waited for the same red head who served him earlier to return with a fresh drink.

“Tough night?” he heard from next to him. Sam merely turned his head, in the few moments he hadn't needed to support it he'd realised how heavy it felt and didn't seem to have the energy to lift it again. He could see through the crook of his arm that the voice belonged to a girl on his left. One glance at her had him forgetting all about his lack of energy, and he straightened up. Her long blonde hair draped over her shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling at him.  _ Jess.  _ She looked like his Jess, his sweet, funny Jess. He swallowed thick and second guessed having the drink that had just been placed in front of him. He was seeing things – a ghost – if such things existed. But when he looked at her again,  _ truly _ looked at her, he realised she was nothing more than just any other blue-eyed blonde.

“Tough couple of months,” Sam replied quietly, reaching for his glass and deciding he definitely needed that drink now.  _ Couple of months  _ replayed in his mind as he called himself a liar. Truthfully, Sam's life had been tough for years - hell, most of his life, since his mother died when he was only six months old and his father opted to run a shitty bar in Kansas in favour of raising his two sons. This left Dean picking up the pieces, being both Sam's mother and father most of the time. When Dad did get home, he'd be drunk and pass out, and Dean would have to take care of him too. For a second, a thick blanket of regret wrapped around Sam's shoulders, making him feel twice as heavy. He was harsh on Dean. Too harsh.

Dean tried his best, Sam knew that. He tried to help Sam, be there for him as much as possible. He did the same for their father too. No doubt Dean felt obligated to run that shitty bar. Sam jumped ship, not wanting that life and what was once a smug righteousness that he'd  _ got out,  _ morphed into a remorse he was unfamiliar with. Sam left. He didn't just leave Dad, he left Dean. He left the only person in this world he had ever truly counted on. And despite the fall out, and Sam pushing them away, Dean still showed, he still came to Jess' trial to  _ support  _ Sam. And Sam was a fucking idiot, too proud to admit that his life away from home wasn't all sunshine and roses, and he chased Dean away. For how long, he wasn't sure. 

And now he’d chased Y/N away too. And as infuriating as her guilt and remorse for what they’d done was, Sam also admired that she had something in her that he couldn’t see in himself. Some sort of spark that he felt drawn to. He knew he wanted her, but he’d fucked that up too. Sam was just so good at pushing away the people that cared for him; almost numb to it when he truly considered how little he cared in return. But he did care in his own twisted way, and that had been enough for Dean all these years, and maybe it would be enough for Y/N too. 

“Sorry to hear that.” The Jess lookalike placed her small hand gently on Sam's arm and offered him a sympathetic smile that made him internally grimace. And then it was back. The anger and hatred he had as he remembered why he was trying to kill himself with alcohol poisoning. Sam knew this girl wasn't Jess, she was just some cheap photocopy, but she'd do, if only for a few moments. He ordered her a drink after asking her what she wanted, and took her to his booth in the corner of the bar. He listened to her talk and talk, about whatever it was she was babbling on about, and kept replaying the video of Jess and  _ him  _ in his mind, feeling the anger bubble under the surface.

This girl was flirty.  _ Claire, Ceri...no, Candy, no... Callie...Kelly!  _ Kelly was a flirt, kept touching his arm and biting her bottom lip and batting her eyelashes like there was something in her eye, and Sam wanted to scoff at how hard she was trying to seduce him, but he quickly decided to work it to his advantage. He still hadn't had his stress relief thanks to Y/N and her change of heart. But that was another rant for another day. Sam was too drunk to be mad at more than one thing at a time, right then. And right then he was too distracted by how much this girl kept looking like his girlfriend – his  _ dead  _ girlfriend. The alcohol was probably playing its part, and Sam wondered if he was sober if she'd look anything like Jess. The very thought made him laugh quietly to himself, and it stopped Kelly's rambling mid sentence as she looked at him, confused. Clearly whatever she'd just said wasn't funny.

“Sorry, I've just realised you look like my friend in college,” he lied. “Hey, can I take a photo to show her?” he asked, already grabbing his cell. It seemed like the perfect excuse, then tomorrow, when he was nursing a hangover, he could laugh about how drunk he must've been to see any of Jess in this girl.

“Okay, sure,” she giggled, smiling sweetly for the camera as Sam held it up and took the shot.

“Yeah, that's good. She won't believe she's got a doppelgänger,” Sam laughed, pocketing his cell.

“So urm, you and this friend...” she trailed off, grabbing her drink and taking a sip to try and hide the clear interest she was showing.

“No,” Sam smirked, ignoring the twang of sadness at the thought that he was single now. Being with Jess for eighteen months, and then basically running straight to Y/N had meant Sam had never truly had a moment of being  _ single  _ in over two years. Not like this. He watched Kelly smile a little at his confirmation. “Why don't we get out of here, I think I've drank enough.”

As they walked along the streets, Sam grew more and more desperate. Not only were his earlier frustrations - that Y/N didn't remedy but made worse - back, but now he'd made up his mind he was going to fuck Kelly, his cock was swelling behind his jeans and he kept having to put his hand in his pocket to get comfortable again. As they passed a side street, dark and vacant, Sam decided he couldn't wait any longer, and gripped Kelly's arm to drag her down it.

“Where're we going?” she asked, breaking out into a slight jog to keep up with him. He didn't reply, leading them to half way down the alley, where the quiet buzz of the street had almost vanished and he pushed her up against the brick wall, drawing a gasp from her lips.

Sam swallowed it down with his mouth, licking into her mouth hungrily as he tugged on the hem of her dress. It's like she wanted to be fucked down an alleyway, wearing a short little dress that gave him the perfect quick access. He tugged her panties down to her knees before moving on to undoing his jeans, finally freeing his aching cock.

“Fuck, Sam, we shouldn't - not here,” Kelly stammered out.

“What's the matter, baby? No one's coming,” he soothed her. He'd be damned if he didn't get to finish this time. She glanced nervously down to the street again, and Sam gripped her chin to bring her focus back to him. He kissed along her jaw, remembering Jess and what she'd wanted from Taylor. He'd never seen that side of her before, he'd never known her to want anything  _ kinky.  _ Was she embarrassed about it? Ashamed? Why did she hide that side of herself from him?

“Thought you were kinky,” he breathed into her ear.

She laughed, albeit a little uneasily, “I never said that.” But Sam wasn't listening, too wrapped up in his own head about Jess, about the secrets she kept from him all this time, about the lies and the side of her he didn't even know until she was gone. He wrapped a hand around her throat, as if to prove to himself that  _ he  _ could do that too. He could do it and not fuck it up like Taylor did. He was smarter than that. She gasped again, whimpering slightly as she squirmed in his grasp. Sam was breathing hot and heavy against the side of her cheek, his erection painful the more he thought about his anger, and it was a weird, toxic combination he'd never experienced before. The images of Jess laying in their bed the day he found her flickered through his mind and he couldn't hold back any longer.

Sam spun Kelly around so quickly she almost fell over, pushing the side of her head against the brick wall as he used his other hand to pull her hips back towards him. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip through her slick a couple of times before pushing his way inside. She was tighter than he imagined a whore like her to be; a pleasant surprise. She started to struggle against him, whimpering and flailing her arms back as Sam buried his face into the back of her neck and started to fuck her hard and fast. She whined with every thrust, hands eventually giving up and gripping onto the wall in front of her.

“If you wanted it rough, baby, you only had to tell me,” he growled, snapping his hips harder as he grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and pulled her face away before hitting it into the side of the wall again. She squealed out in pain.

“No – no I don't.”

But she  _ did  _ want it rough. She asked  _ him  _ for rough. She asked him to choke her, he called her a  _ dirty girl.  _ And if Sam didn't have the video evidence on his phone, the same evidence still burned into his memory - if he couldn't tell Jess from a pixelated photo or video, he might not have believed they were talking about the same girl. His Jess, his _ sweet, funny, everyone loves Jess, _ Jess.

“Sam, Sam,” she begged out, her voice whiny and irritating.

“Shut up! This is what you wanted, Jess! This is what you asked for!” Sam yelled at her, smashing her head into the brick wall again. He felt his hips falter and he came undone. He loosened his grip on her body and hair, panting as he stepped back, noticing she was falling to her knees at his feet.

“Shit, I'm sorry, are you okay?” Sam panted, his eyes still closed as he regained composure. His climax was draining his body, along with the alcohol, leaving behind a bittersweet taste of clarity. He'd lost control, taken it out on Kelly. But he couldn't deny it felt good, he felt like a weight had been lifted. “Hey, I asked if you were okay,” Sam kicked her softly with his booted foot, but she didn't respond. He sighed, and then noticed she was slumped in what had to be a very uncomfortable position. “Sorry if I was too rough,” he sighed, bending down to grab her arm and force her to face him. But her body was fairly limp, and it was then that Sam noticed the blood that gushed down her face where he'd smashed her head into the wall. “Fuck.” Panic started to rise inside of him – or was it adrenaline? - and Sam shook her to wake her, but she wasn't responding.

“Hey! Kelly, wake up!” he shouted down at her. He let her body fall back against his knees as he crouched there and felt for a pulse in her neck. It was slow and barely there, but it  _ was  _ there.

Sam's gut instinct was to call Dean, just like it had been when he found Jess' body, but he remembered their last conversation and he realised picking open that wound to tell him he'd just lost control with a girl and now she was dying in his arms probably wasn't the best idea. He could – well,  _ should _ – call an ambulance, but he couldn't explain his way out of this one, not even with what little lawyer bullshit he could spiel. He could leave the scene before they arrived, but his cum was sticking to her thighs and she'd tell them his name and probably enough information to identify him. There was only one thing to do. He hauled her over his shoulder and used what backroads he knew to get him back to his apartment. Luckily, it was gone two am so the streets were dead now, meaning he could get her in the trunk of his car without being seen. At least he  _ hoped so. _

He got into the driver's seat and drew a deep breath, glancing into his rear view mirror like she was going to break out of the trunk. He started the engine and drove, not exactly sure where, but  _ somewhere.  _ He took back roads and country lanes, making random turns as much as possible until he came to a bridge, a river flowing underneath it. It was cliche, but he didn't really have another plan. His whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest as he pulled over and stopped the car. He rounded to the trunk and opened it, coming face to face with a greying skinned blonde and he didn't need to check to know she'd died. There was that same vacant expression in her eyes that Jess had.

He found himself staring for a moment. There was something about that look, something haunting yet beautiful that had always captivated him, even in crime scene photos. It shouldn't arouse him – he knew it shouldn't – but it did. He swallowed thickly, wishing he could keep staring at her for forever, but this was already risky. He glanced around, making sure he was still completely alone, before digging into his pocket and producing his cell phone. He took one last photo of her – why he wasn't too sure, yet – and pocketed it again. He pulled her panties off and used them to wipe his climax off the skin between her legs, not that he'd get it all, but he'd get some and maybe the river would wash off the rest. He could hope. He stuffed the panties into his jacket pocket before reaching down and hauling her over his shoulder. He considered he should bound her, or tie rocks to her feet so she wouldn't float, but he wasn't prepared for that.

He dropped the body over the bridge and watched as it broke the surface of the water with a loud crack. Birds in nearby trees took to flight, and Sam watched, waiting for her to re-emerge, but she didn't. He didn't notice his hands were shaking, until he was closing his trunk and climbing back into the driver's seat of his car. He couldn't hang around, he needed to make his getaway, so he pulled off again and continued to drive, any turning would do, any lane or back road looked inviting, and he didn't stop driving until the sun was coming up and he had no idea where he was. He pulled over into some truck stop lane that was deserted and drew a deep breath. The adrenaline was starting to wear off now and just as Sam debated calling Dean – who wouldn't be happy to be  _ woken at the ass-crack of dawn, Sammy what the fuck is wrong with you? _ \- he found himself, instead, pulling up the two photos of Kelly.

He sat and looked at the first one for a moment or two, her smile, the twinkle in her blue eyes that most certainly wasn't in the second photo when he scrolled to that one. He could feel himself growing hard again, just the very thought of what he'd done was stirring something in him he hated to admit he'd always known was there, but never thought he'd go through with. He palmed at the front of his jeans for some temporary relief and wondered if he'd get away with what he'd done to Kelly. He wondered if he'd ever do it again. He knew he didn't have time to stop, he didn't have time for the problem presenting itself in his jeans, he had to keep driving, and not stop until he was as far away from Stanford as he could get. And maybe that was just what he needed.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Tags:** angst, fluff, mentions of sex/murder/cheating/death

**Chapter WC:** 2245

[ ](https://www.patreon.com/posts/40262966)

\- - -

**_Your POV_ **

**FRIDAY, 20** **th** **JUNE 2008**

Reaching up, you pulled another tac from the wall and dropped it into the pot sitting on the table beneath you, peeling the photo away from the wall and adding it to the growing pile of newspaper clippings, mug shots and polaroids. It was bittersweet to be packing up your old dorm room, there was a taste in your mouth you couldn't quite shift; excitement for what was next for you and a thick anxiety that what if  _ next  _ was some shitty office job you hated, struggling to pay the bills because you were simply not good enough to become the one thing you'd worked so hard for. You'd been so focused, so driven, you'd barely seen anything either side of you on your journey through college to graduation.

But now, as you watched your whole life for the last four years pack away into boxes, your dorm room holding less and less character and  _ you  _ in it, reality was weighing on you like a heavy cloud. Real life - that's what was next. And you wished you could stay in your college bubble for just another couple of years, fixate on old crimes and attend lectures, get drunk on weekends and write articles for the fun of it. Do nothing but fuck your boyfriend for the entirety of the few weekends he visited of the semester, but you couldn't.

You already knew you didn't want to go home. You said goodbye to that town four years ago and had no intentions of stepping foot in it again. You wanted different – you wanted more. Stanford had shown you that the second you arrived. You stepped through those gates with a world of endless possibilities hitting you square in the chest, barely waving your parents off as they sniffled between them, too caught up, too drunk on excitement to give that goodbye a second thought. You promised you'd be home, but the eight hour drive seemed gruelling no matter how you looked at it, and you made excuse after excuse until no one ever expected you back. Stanford became home. Corner coffee shops, the smell of books from the library, the chipping paint on your dorm door – that was home. It was home for so long and now, suddenly, it wasn't any more.

You moved on to the next crime scene photo, one bloodied Nike shoe that had shown up miles from any other evidence that still perplexed people today, and tidied it away, your eyes coming up on the now almost-bare wall. You'd not seen the paint of this wall for years. It was always covered, always decorated with gore and mystery and hours of speculation as you drove yourself nearly mad. You never did crack any of the cases. It was foolish of you to believe you would. But you told yourself that when you were a reporter, investigating a current,  _ right there in front of you  _ crime, you'd have a better shot. You'd be in the middle of it, you'd see it all for yourself. You'd have witnesses and more than just black and white crime scene photos that were blurry and had been photocopied too many times to hold any kind of credibility. And then you'd tell their story, get it printed for the world to read.

Maybe it was naïve of you to believe you'd get your dream, that you could  _ actually  _ be a reporter, one that reported things like serial killers and abductions and not just Terry Mansfield, who grew the largest cucumber in the state and  _ wow, twenty pounds? What soil do you use?  _ Just the thought made you grimace, God you hoped – prayed – it didn't come to that. You knew it didn't always work out, you'd seen first hand how dreams could be crushed, how lives could be changed and even the best laid plans fell apart. And at that thought your mind wandered to the very wall you were still staring mindlessly at. The very wall Sam pinned you to the first time he fucked you. The day Jess died. But the thought of her doesn't leave the bitter taste in your mouth any more. It leaves a pang in your chest you'd learned to ignore, a niggle in your stomach you could morph into acceptance. Things worked out.

The guilt took its time to eat away at you, before Sam pulled you back that night he showed up on your doorstep, three months after he'd left without a word. Your initial instinct was to slap him, ask him where the hell he'd been and  _ why didn't you pick up the damn phone and just tell me you'd moved back home?!  _ You'd scorned him for leaving you to find out from some jock in psych that he'd dropped out of college, leaving you feeling like it was all your fault. Because why wouldn't it be? 

Because he'd fucked you as his girlfriend was taking her last breaths. Because she had been murdered and there was a two week long trial, just for Sam to find out that she'd been having an affair and the whole thing was one sickening, gut wrenching mistake. Because he'd been so angry that day that when you promised him you could handle yourself, you went back on it before he even started to feel remotely better. Because you were so caught up in Jess –  _ Jess Jess Jess _ – that you failed to see Sam. You failed to see how much he was hurting, how he blamed himself for what happened between you more than you'd realised, that your constant fretting about it stopped the wound from healing. So  _ of course  _ he left Stanford because of you.

Or maybe it was self centred of you to think you had such an impact, because after voicing all this to Sam himself, he shook his head in disbelief, held your face in his hands and kissed you. Kissed every worry you had away like he was sucking the oxygen from your lungs. And you were forgiven – or maybe forgiveness wasn't necessary – but either way, Sam was back. Maybe not for good – maybe not at Stanford, but for you. And he made promises about not leaving again, and offered apologises for anything he'd said that had hurt and you'd shook your head and told him it was  _ fine and I'm just glad you're okay.  _ And then he told you he never wanted to lose you again, not the way he had before, but unlike before he wanted more. He wanted you. And you'd been far too eager to agree, but Sam didn't seem to mind that.

It was days later, tangled bedsheets caught in limbs and stacks of empty pizza boxes alongside the bed that he finally explained where he'd been for the last three months. He explained that him clearing his head for a few days turned into his father needing someone to step in for him at the bar, which led to weeks of Sam running it alongside his brother, Dean, wondering when their Dad was going to come home. When John finally did return, Sam had already given up hope of ever returning and gave in to his fate of becoming the thing he'd tried so hard not to be. Eventually, Sam left the crumpled bedsheets that smelled of sex and promises and  _ making up for lost time  _ that you'd lived in for three days, promising to be back when he could catch another break.

Your relationship became a string of texts from first thing in the morning with bleary eyes to last thing at night with half asleep responses. The odd phone call would make its way in from time to time, but texting was easier when Sam worked that bar so damn hard, and you wondered if the poor man ever slept. Sam was set to come visit you again for Christmas, but those plans were torn apart the second Sam's father died and you wished so desperately to be there for him, to let him grieve alongside you like he had for Jess, but Sam became closed off for a few weeks, refusing to give you very much information, refusing to let you visit. Until one day, it was like he was back to normal, back to being your Sam, and you were too afraid to ever mention John's name again, so you hadn't.

Life together was another two year cycle of texts, calls and occasional weekend visits where he'd show up at your door unannounced, and any plans you'd dared to make would be cancelled until he left again. You'd talked about what happened next, what happened when you weren't tied to Stanford any more, and Sam had tried to put you off moving to Kansas just for him, not wanting to tie you down for his sake, but you really saw no other solution. You knew him leaving his brother to run the family bar completely alone was out of the question for Sam, and as you didn't even want to go home, and doing any more of this long distance crap was also out of the question, you'd made up your mind pretty damn quickly.

-

Lawrence, Kansas was over a day's drive away, not that you had a car anyway, so you'd bought a one way plane ticket. Stepping out of the airport you approached the first cab of many in a line and asked the driver to take you to “The Bunker”. Your eyes scanned every building, every stretch of scenery on the drive to Sam's bar, as anxiety and excitement mixed with the terrible in-flight food you'd digested in hopes of feeling less nauseous. The journey was surprisingly quick as you felt the cab slow to a stop on a quiet town strip and when you ducked your head you saw the sign that read “The Bunker.” You weren't sure what you'd been expecting when Sam always explained the bar to you, maybe some off the beaten track dive bar from the way he complained about it, but it actually wasn't all that bad.

You paid the driver as he helped you unload your suitcase from the trunk and thanked him with a smile before looking up at the sign once more, like you might accidentally walk into the wrong place. You took one last deep breath before walking inside confidently. You were a little thrown off to see the place empty, one man that wasn't Sam stood behind the bar, drying glasses with a towel. You quickly recognised him as Sam's older brother, Dean.

“Sorry, sweetheart, we're closed,” he called, barely glancing at you. “You lost? Need me to point you in the direction of a motel?” he asked, his eyes landing on your suitcase.

“Urm, no – Dean right?” you asked, clearing your throat a little. Dean looked up at you properly this time, and squinted a little in the low lighting.

“I know you from somewhere,” he frowned, like he was trying to place it.

You waited to see if he'd work it out. You'd only met Dean once, for barely two minutes outside the courthouse that day, and you doubted Sam carried around photos of you to show people, so you weren't surprised he didn't know who you were immediately.

“Ah fuck,” he grunted, the glass landing on the bar top with a bang. “Have I... you know... knocked you up?” he asked awkwardly.

“No,” you answered plainly, wondering how he didn't even know if he'd had sex with you or not – which he definitely hadn't. He frowned at you again, clearly realising his mistake, as he once more tried to place you.

“The ale barrel is gonna need-” Sam's voice cut through the awkwardness that was starting to grow between you and his brother as he came in from a door in the back corner of the room and stared right at you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” he asked, eyes wide at the sight of you.

“Surprise,” you called weakly, chuckling slightly with nerves, mainly. What if he didn't want you here? But you were his girlfriend, you'd not seen each other since your graduation three weeks ago, he'd be happy right?

“That's who you are!” Dean announced, slapping his hand down on the bar top. You giggled, glancing at Dean for a moment before looking back at your boyfriend who was slowly closing the cellar door behind him.

“Well? Are you happy to see me?” you prompted, the nerves evident in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah of course, baby,” Sam smiled, stepping forward and embracing you before kissing you quickly on the lips.

“I don't urm – I don't have to stay long, but I wanted to surprise you as my first trip since leaving Stanford,” you admitted with a blush. Sam smiled and kissed you again.

“Well I am very surprised. I never thought you'd come here, stay as long as you like,” he told you.

“Well, she had to meet me properly at some point, Sammy,” Dean piped up. “This calls for shots.” Sam looked a little thrown off, and you hoped it was just the surprise still setting in. “And it's perfect timing too, Sammy. Now you've got those four days off,” he added.

“Yeah, yeah perfect,” Sam nodded, and you couldn't agree more.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Tags:** Murder, smut, protected sex, suffocation,  **non con, date rape,** talk of slitting throats, hatred towards women

**Chapter WC:** 2906

[ ](https://www.patreon.com/posts/40262966)

**\- - -**

**_Sam’s POV_ **

It was three months after Kelly that Sam killed again. After the initial shock and guilt of her had worn off, it left behind a hunger that he couldn't sate. It was laced heavily with arousal that he couldn't shake, until he was kicked back on some cheap motel bed, hand around himself as he looked at the photos of her again. What was once disgust in himself as he stared at the second photo,  _ you did that,  _ quickly turned to some kind of admiration.  _ You did that.  _ The adrenaline he was riding as he drove as far away from California as he could get was like nothing he'd ever felt before – electric. Nothing had come close since. No matter how many girls he dragged behind another dive bar to fuck against the wall, no matter how many times his climax painted his torso as he touched himself to the images of Kelly, he knew only one thing was going to scratch the itch she'd created.

Natalie was pretty. Long brunette hair and sparkling apple green eyes and she giggled  _ all the fucking time.  _ It only took him an hour to decide she was definitely the one – his next victim. He'd had time to think about it – how he was going to do it. Last time was an accident, it was a mistake that could've ended badly for him. It wasn't calculated, it wasn't well thought out, it wasn't  _ smart.  _ He hadn't been careful. Not like he'd be this time. This time he'd put all those criminology classes and lectures on evidence to good use. This time he'd be untraceable. By some miracle he'd gotten away with Kelly so far. Her body was found over a week later, so water blown she was hardly recognisable according to the articles and most DNA evidence was lost. Their leading suspect was her scumbag of an ex boyfriend who had previous convictions, and, luckily for Sam, the guy was so high when they arrested him that he confessed to Sam's crimes. But Sam couldn't count on that fluke twice.

Sam had been nursing the same beer all night. Having a beer in his hand didn't raise suspicion as he sat there in his booth in the corner of the room, but it wouldn't be anywhere near enough to cloud his judgement. He needed that to be sharp. He'd seen Natalie at the bar, looking around, her face flooding with disappointment each time someone walked through the door and didn't approach her. Poor thing had been stood up. Sam had smirked to himself as he pushed his half full bottle of beer to the middle of the table and rose to his feet to order another. He'd slotted himself alongside her and ordered his drink.

“He isn't worth it,” Sam had noted casually as he waited. Natalie's eyes flickered to him and sighed.

“Guess not,” she'd agreed.

“Let me get you a drink.”

They'd spoken for a couple of hours, Sam's beer going warm and losing its fizz, it had been open for so long as Natalie drank more and more and more, barely noticing she was the only one in need of refills. Sam played along, of course, slurring his words slightly, raising his voice a little to match hers. It was easy to act drunk with someone who was too out of it themselves to realise it was just that; an act. Sam had gotten good at this part; seducing a girl within a couple hours, after all the desperate searching he'd done for something to scratch the itch he was  _ finally  _ about to sate. He'd suggested, fairly bluntly actually, that they left the bar and she was unsurprisingly willing. He told her he'd meet her outside, just needing to go to the bathroom and pay the tab, and she was happy to step outside without him. Now came the acting.

Sam had hauled himself up to his feet, staggered over to the bar and drunkenly slurred pretty loudly, _"what a_ _waste of time that was."_ As he'd looked over at the other man sitting at the bar he smiled lopsidedly and added: “ _hey, what you gonna do? No means no, right?”_ before ordering a shot of whiskey. The barman paid barely any notice as Sam downed the drink in one, partly for show and partly for nerves, before pulling out his cell and faking a call to Dean about him crashing at his place for the night. He'd then settled the tab and pushed himself off the bar in pursuit of the door. As soon as the door closed behind him he straightened up a little and cleared his throat, noticing Natalie stood a little further down the parking lot as she puffed on a cigarette.

Sam had let her lead him back to her place, and as neither of them were under any false pretences what he was doing there, he was quick to get her into her bedroom, watching her tear her own clothes off as he fumbled with a condom. Stupid fucking things, but he couldn't risk DNA evidence again. He'd fucked her until her throat was hoarse and his back was red raw from her acrylic nails, and when he finally felt close to his climax, he grabbed her spare pillow and pushed it over her face, holding it down as she thrashed beneath him for air. The way she clenched around him, struggling and fighting for breath got him closer and closer to the edge without needing to thrust. Her hands gripped at his wrist, so painfully tight a couple of her nails snapped, but she didn't seem to care, and Sam finally came undone when she lost her fight.

He'd thrown the pillow to one side, coming face to face with expressionless eyes as he gasped for air and came down from his high. He'd stared at her confused, frowning down at her lifeless body. It was supposed to work, it was supposed to make him feel better. He'd done it, he'd taken her life. But something was wrong. It wasn't the same, it just wasn't. He'd pulled out quickly, been careful to sort out the condom and make sure he was leaving no traces behind and stood at the foot of her bed, just staring at her limp body for a few moments, trying to figure out just why it hadn't worked. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his cell and taking a photo of her before slipping out of her apartment unseen, avoiding the cameras the whole way back to his car a couple of miles away.

As he'd sat in the driver's seat and stared down at the photo of Natalie on his phone, still feeling the ghost of her cunt wrapped around him, the realisation dawned on him. It was wrong because  _ she  _ was wrong. Kelly was like Jess. So much so that he thought she  _ was  _ Jess. And yes, he had been drunk last time, but he knew being sober made it better, even if the night hadn't worked out the way he wanted it to. Natalie was brunette with green eyes, nothing like Jess at all. He knew next time he needed a pretty little blonde with blue eyes and the very thought had his pants tightening again.

-

Sam didn't wait another three months the next time, simply because his itch hadn't been scratched by Natalie. He'd driven a hundred miles east of her and only four days later was she found. There were whispers about the guy she'd spent her night drinking with, but nothing for Sam to worry about, especially not when he'd found his next victim a fortnight later. Holly was perfect. Blonde hair with blue eyes. He should've stayed away, really. She was out drinking with friends, some sort of hen party, but it meant she wasn't from around here anyway, which Sam figured was a bonus. She'd been loudly bitching about her boyfriend all night, about how much of a dickhead he was, and Sam considered leaving her alone. He didn't like cheaters. But something about her was captivating, and when she'd noticed him looking at her, she approached him. Once she'd started flirting with him, he was convinced.

He'd asked about her boyfriend, but she brushed Sam off and shook her head, claiming she was “ _ miles away from home so he'd never know.”  _ And something in Sam's gut clenched. Did Jessica ever take any persuading from Taylor? Was she this willing to cheat on him when Taylor approached her? Did  _ she  _ approach  _ Taylor?  _ The anger was bubbling in Sam's veins as he pretended to not care about her flippant attitude to cheating on her boyfriend, and he was surprised he had the amount of self control it took to wait out the remainder of her friends as they one by one left the bar in pursuit of their motel rooms. Now it was just the two of them, he could put his plan into action.

Just like before, she left first, Sam made some loud comment about wasting his time _,_ fake called Dean and as the whiskey went down his throat, he thought about how he could get used to playing this role. He quite liked it. He'd met Holly outside, let her take him back to her motel room which luckily she had to herself, a few doors away from any of her friends, which she'd rather usefully informed him of as she struggled to get the key in the door. Suffocating Natalie with a pillow had seemed to be a clean and easy kill, so Sam opted for that once again and whilst it was satisfying for him to remove the pillow and be met with vacant blue eyes, and as hard as he came into the tacky rubber of the condom, something was still off – though he did feel he was getting closer. Closer to that _absolute_ satisfaction. He'd stared at the photo of Holly’s body on his cell that night and jerked off before going to sleep, and was back on the road by sunrise. Finally sated _enough,_ it was time to make things right with Y/N.

**-**

Fucking Y/N was different. It was real and it meant something and it wasn't just part of some plan or rouse so he could take her life. Fucking Y/N was electric and felt like a million little sparks all over his body. It felt like breaking apart and being stitched back together all at once. And Sam had noticed, as the months went on, that he didn't get the same feeling of compelling arousal at the thought of killing Y/N. In fact, after his revelation between Kelly, Natalie and then Holly, he only got that kind of feeling when he thought about killing the ones that looked like  _ her.  _ It was better when they reminded him of her in other ways too. The unfaithful ones, the whores that were so desperate to be fucked they didn't care about the man they had waiting at home for them. Those were the best ones. The ones that repulsed him always scratched that itch harder.

The  _ how  _ was the teething problem. He'd ditched the pillow suffocation when he realised it hadn't worked. He'd slit one girls' throat, Carrie, but the blood caused so much mess that got onto his clothes, he couldn't risk that kind of evidence again. How he  _ found  _ it was an accident, actually. Jenny was kinky, apparently. She wanted  _ harder, faster, slap me _ and as she gripped his wrist and guided it to her throat, all Sam could see was the video of Jess and  _ him  _ over and over again in his mind as he squeezed her throat tighter and tighter, watching her face turn red, eyes wide as she clawed against his arm, gripping his wrist in a desperate bid to get him to loosen up, but he didn't – he  _ couldn't.  _ He squeezed until her fight was over and the life was gone in her eyes and he came seconds later.

He managed to ride out that high for several weeks, managing to fit in a weekend visit with Y/N, where every time he fucked into her he thought of Jenny and how perfect she was, how perfectly she died, and he'd cum inside her with Jenny's name on the tip of his tongue. He needed more like her and he left Y/N back in Stanford in pursuit of one, until he grew desperate. He needed something to quench that thirst once more, but there were no girls even close to hitting the mark. 

Sam watched some low life slip some powder into a girl's drink at a bar one night and approached her to let her know, before the son of a bitch could lay hands on her. She'd been dumb enough to trust Sam as he walked her home, but he'd grown restless and fucked her barely conscious body down some dark, wet alley. But he should've known better that it wouldn't have done anything. It was never about the sex. The sex was a means to an end. It was just some desperate bid to feel at least  _ some  _ of the satisfaction he could've felt. But as the red head lay there on the floor and whimpered with no fight thanks to her intoxication, Sam realised that he had no intentions of killing her and fled the scene and the state before she could wake up and point fingers.

John's death came as a shock to Sam, and saw him returning back to Kansas sooner than he'd hoped, forcing his little experiment to the back burner. Him and Dean stumbled through apologies, Dean too cut up about the death of their father to really focus on anything else, so Sam was forgiven pretty easily, luckily. Sam could only describe the way he felt about his father's death as numb. He and John never really did make up after their fall out over Stanford, and Sam blamed John for pretty much everything wrong in their lives. John neglected them for that shitty bar that Dean now insisted on running, to keep the  _ family business alive, _ and had even begged Sam to stick around. But he couldn't. Not yet. He still had so much more to discover. And much like the night he left for Stanford, there was a big fight about Sam leaving Kansas at all. But Sam left Dean with promises of returning –  _ he just needed time.  _ Time to perfect his kill.

It was in Jefferson, Colorado, that Sam learned that hunting his prey was just as exciting. His slip up with the drugged redhead might've left him unsatisfied, but it also taught him the valuable lesson that another Jenny was worth waiting for, worth  _ working  _ for. Ellie was hard to read when he met her the first night. She was a little drunk and a whole lot flirty, complaining that her husband worked away. Sam wondered most of the night if she was capable of cheating, wanted to push her limits and test her boundaries to see just how much of a whore she could be. He was intrigued by her, and his cock twitched every time he thought about wrapping his hand around her neck and draining the life from her eyes, but he also knew she needed to be right.

He'd let her go home that night and happened to bump into her the next day, where she was equally as flirty despite being sober. So Sam bit the bullet, and asked her if she wanted to hook up that night. He was passing through, she was missing her husband. She only took a little persuading, dumb bitch. But it worked in Sam's favour because that night, when she came to his new motel room that he'd booked under a fake name, she was sober and wearing lingerie, given they were clearly meeting up for a reason. Sam took great pleasure in choking the life out of the whore that had gone out of her way to cheat on her husband, and the way he saw it, it was doing the sorry son of a bitch a favour anyway, who knows how many other men she'd fucked behind his back.

After another year away to “mourn John's death _ ” _ , Sam finally returned home to Kansas and made up with Dean, agreeing to help him run that shitty fucking bar. He had a system now, he had plans. He had routine and structure, knew if a girl could quench his thirst from just a single glance at her. He knew he liked taking photos, and as digital copies were hardly  _ safe,  _ he'd invested in a polaroid camera instead. He knew he needed to kill every few months and once a month, he'd inform Dean he'd be taking some time off to visit Y/N and any time the need struck, he'd tell Y/N the bar had gotten busy and he couldn't come. 

Dean gave him the space and privacy, didn't ask many questions, like some unspoken compromise because Sam was even there in the first place. And things were finally perfect. He was satisfied. At least, he was until Y/N turned up at The Bunker and suddenly, he knew he needed a whole new alibi for skipping town every few months. Luckily, with the ghost of Katie's pulse still buzzing beneath his fingertips, Sam knew he had a little while to formulate a plan.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Tags:** mentions of murder, arousal from murder  _ hinted,  _ smut, p in v, rough sex, degradation, fluff

**Chapter WC:** 2360

[ ](https://www.patreon.com/posts/40262966)

**\- - -**

**_Your POV_ **

A week with Sam in Kansas was turning into a month. You knew the sensible thing to do was to find somewhere to settle down, rent a place and find a job, but you were still enjoying the downtime from graduation, and being with Sam almost all the time made you happy. The two of you had never had that. You'd never spent more than three days in each other's company. You had to admit that a small part of you had been nervous about your relationship in the real world. You'd gotten together after he left Stanford, and the majority of your relationship had developed through two cell phones. When Sam did come to visit it was for just overnight, sometimes long weekends if you were lucky. And the majority of his visit was spent between bedsheets. But being in Kansas with him, staying in his apartment and helping out at The Bunker for something to do was  _ real.  _ You were suddenly a  _ real  _ couple.

You were suddenly that  _ Morning beautiful  _ couple that got up and made coffee and ate eggs together before taking it in turns to shower. Sam would go to work and you'd clean around the apartment. Once you were sick of being stuck in, you'd take a stroll around the area or go to the bar to either help or just keep them company. You'd cook dinner and cuddle on the couch watching crime documentaries in the nights. You felt you'd fallen quite easily into a comfortable routine, and you didn't want to break that by leaving. Besides, you didn't really have anywhere to go, still against the idea of returning home, and with no real jobs lined up or plans, you were wandering a little aimlessly.

You were more than happy to stay in Kansas, you liked it there. You got on well with Dean and the other guy, Cas, they had to help them out sometimes, and you just felt  _ at home  _ there. But you didn't want to outstay your welcome, especially when Sam hadn't even invited you to Kansas in the first place. And whilst he didn't seem to be in any rush for you to leave again - his questions about your plans always seemed genuine – he also wasn't asking you to stay, or encouraging you to get a job in the area. Sometimes, Sam seemed on edge, jittery and a little uncomfortable, like maybe you were invading on his space and so, a couple of times, you'd brought up how maybe you'd go to Colorado for a bit, or some other state he wasn't in, just to judge his reaction to you not hanging around. But he was hard to read, he always had been. Until he came out and told you outright if he wanted you there or not, you had no idea what was going on in his mind.

You knew you had to think about yourself more than Sam. This was your life, this was the life you'd worked hard for. You'd been to college for three years, studied hard and spent your whole life dreaming of becoming a crime reporter. Boyfriend or no boyfriend, you had to pursue that dream. So you’d begun applying for jobs all over the country. You loved Sam, and you didn't want to leave, but if you got your dream job elsewhere, you owed it to yourself to go for it. Sam had always hated working at The Bunker, anyway. And now that Dean had hired Cas, maybe Sam could move away from it like he originally wanted to. Maybe he could even return to college to graduate and become a lawyer like he'd dreamed about. But you knew you couldn't dream those dreams for him, you couldn't tell him what to do, and if your lives took off in different directions, maybe that was meant to be too.

But each job application was followed several days later with the crushing, humiliating response of refusal, one after the other turning you down. You were starting to lose hope of ever finding a job at all, let alone your dream job. You had been researching and writing mock articles on crimes for  _ years,  _ and all you wanted was for someone to see your work and get it out to the public, paying you for it would be a bonus too, but it was seeming more and more like a pipe dream with every rejection letter.

“I don't know, maybe I need to think of something else,” you told Sam defeated one day. Sam looked at you sympathetically and shrugged his shoulders.

“Something will come up, you'll work it out, you always do.” You went to close your laptop on the email telling you you weren't successful but you quickly had a thought.  _ If only people could see your reports.  _ But they could, you had the whole internet at your fingertips. You could create a website and post your reports and findings on there.

Maybe it wouldn't get you paid, maybe you'd have to pick up some shitty job for the time being, but it would at least sate that part of you that's dying to share your passion for crimes. Maybe if you had some proof of your work to show employers, they'd be more likely to at least get you to the interview stage.

“What about a blog?” you asked Sam out loud.

“A blog?” he pressed.

“Yeah, if I set up a website and posted my reports on there, I could do it in my own time, I can do it anywhere in the world, no matter where I end up, and then I can just pick up some work for money.”

“The Bunker always needs extra staff, especially on weekends,” Sam told you. You smiled at him.

“That would be okay?” you checked.

“Yeah, why not? You're helping us out, we'd be helping you out.”

But that wasn't really what you were asking, Sam probably knew that too. You were asking if it was okay for you to stick around longer. If you were working at The Bunker that meant staying in Kansas, but Sam wouldn't have offered if he didn't want that, right?

“Sounds good to me.” Sam offered you a smile and you quickly began looking up websites that would allow you to make your own. It took you most of the afternoon, whilst Sam worked a few hours at the bar, but after some deliberation and planning, you'd settled on a name,  _ Crime Crusher _ , and set up the basics. You'd dug out your old files of the different crimes you'd researched whilst at Stanford and although you'd not necessarily solved any of those crimes, you had come up with some theories that it seemed most people hadn't considered before. That would hopefully get people's attention.

Sam came home to you surrounded in crime scene photos as you leaned over them, snapping photos on your cell to upload to your website as you began filling your blog with all the information you'd accumulated over the years. Luckily, a lot of the reports were already typed up, and you were able to find some of the original newspaper articles or crime photos online. It felt strangely calming and homely to be surrounded by all the different photos and evidence. You'd been so used to it, always being there in college, you didn't realise how much you'd miss it. Sam always liked it too, so maybe he'd let you stick some up on the walls here.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he closed the door behind him.

“I'm sorting out all the evidence and my notes from the different crimes I studied in college. Does it make me weird if I say I missed these?”

You looked up at your boyfriend who chuckled softly. He reached down onto the table and grabbed a photo of a dead woman who had been bound expertly to a bed and had her throat slit. He didn't say anything for a moment as he stared at the photo before dropping it again.

“No, it's not weird. I love your messed up mind,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Geez, thanks,” you scoffed, laughing slightly. He bit his bottom lip as his hazel eyes scanned the photos spread out.

“Got much left to do?” he pressed.

You shook your head, “not really. There's no rush. Did you check with Dean, see if I can pick up some shifts at The Bunker?” You picked up another photo as Sam reached for your hand and pulled you to your feet and into him so you were pressed up against his tall frame.

“Yeah, it's fine, told you it would be. We're gonna work out a shift pattern,” he smiled, reaching up and tucking some hair behind your ear.

“But enough about that because I-” Sam leaned down and kissed the space next to your ear, “-haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day,” he purred quietly. You bit your bottom lip, suddenly realising what was going on as you felt the arousal start to pool deep in your stomach. You let Sam kiss you as he reached down and encouraged your legs to wrap around his waist. He carried you into the bedroom and lay you down on the bed and you placed the photo you were still clutching on the nightstand so you could focus on Sam. Sam glanced at it before lowering his face into your neck, licking, biting and sucking the skin there as you arched your back into his touch. His hands became greedy and desperate as he tore into your shirt and quickly started to unbutton your jeans. He kissed down your body, between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach as he tugged your jeans and panties down your legs in one swift movement.

He reached for his own shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it down to the floor before thumbing his jeans open, sitting back on his heels as he did so. Your chest was heaving as you watched him reach inside his pants and pull his hardening cock free. He tapped the side of your thigh, encouraging you to turn onto your stomach and gripped your hips to tuck your knees under you, so you were on all fours. He quickly entered you, his cock still swelling more and more as it stretched you out, and he began fucking you hard and fast, gripping the back of your neck and pushing your face down into the pillow as your screams became muffled. Sam was grunting loudly, gasping and moaning with each thrust inside you, which only turned you on more.

“Fuck yes, fucking take it,” he growled.

Sam liked being rough with you when it came to sex, heavy handed with lots of dirty talking. It was almost like he was  _ angry,  _ but it only turned you on more. You loved feeling his hands grip you a little too hard, you loved it when he wrapped one around your throat, or spanked you so hard it made your skin sting for hours. And the degradation – you never thought it would affect you as much as it did. Sam hadn't always been rough, it was like he was waiting to figure out if you were into that. Once he realised you were, it got rougher and rougher as time went on. You were surprised to feel him choke you for the first time, what happened to Jess coming back to you quickly, the first time you felt his fingers flex around your throat. It made you wonder if he'd ever done anything like this to Jess before? Maybe that's why she asked for that from Taylor, or maybe neither of them were ever brave enough to voice their desires before.

All thoughts about Jess were swept away by the feeling of Sam's large hand encasing the back of your head, pushing your face down harder into the pillow as he moaned loudly.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted. Your eyes rolled behind your lids as you felt yourself approaching your climax, and when Sam nudged himself impossibly deeper, that's when the coil snapped and you came hard around him. “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Sam chanted, his fingers digging in painfully hard into your ass, until he was collapsing on top of you and you could feel the warmth of his orgasm inside you. He slowly pulled out, breathing heavily as he released your head and crashed down next to you.

You both lay there, catching your breaths for a few moments until you spoke up again.

“So, how many hours a week do you think I'll be working?” you asked, rolling onto your side to face him.

“Maybe like three nights a week, why?” he asked, still panting slightly.

“I was just trying to figure out if I could afford an apartment,” you told him. Sam looked over at you.

“Oh, I assumed you'd stay here,” he shrugged. You stared at him for a moment. Was he asking you to move in with him?

“Wait, really?” you checked, sitting up.

“Yeah, why not? Only one lot of bills to worry about, I've got the space,” he explained. “Why, you don't want to?” he asked.

“No, no I do, I just didn't want to impose myself on you, especially with my reporting work, you know?” you explained, feeling your cheeks heating up.

“Ah you mean the crime wall,” he smirked, resting a hand behind his head.

“Yeah,” you laughed softly.

“I don't mind, baby, you know that stuff has never bothered me.” You bit your bottom lip and nodded.

“So, I'm moving in... officially?” you checked, unable to hide your smile. Sam sat up and cupped the side of your face, his eyes glancing over your shoulder for a moment but they soon settled back on you.

“Yes, you and your murder photos are staying.” 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Tags:** stalking, derogatory attitude towards women, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, slit throat, choking, arousal from murder, p in v, degradation

**Chapter WC:** 2109

[ ](https://www.patreon.com/posts/40262966)

\- - -

**_Sam's POV_ **

Sam drew a deep breath, resting his elbow on the door of the car, his hand rubbing over his mouth as he watched the house for any sign of movement. Suddenly, she was there in the window, and Sam sat up straighter, squinting his eyes slightly for a better look. She was on her cell, playing with the charm on her necklace as she smiled and spoke to whoever was on the other end. Biting her bottom lip, she giggled, and Sam wondered what that sounded like. He'd heard her voice twice before. Once when he was behind her in a store queue, and she thanked the cashier – that was how he found her - and a second time when they bumped into each other (intentionally on Sam's part of course), and she apologised to him. Her skin was soft, he could still feel it beneath his fingers when he remembered gripping her arms to stop her falling. He'd taken the blame, of course, checking she was okay as she straightened up again. He remembered thinking her voice was softer than he'd imagined. Maybe her giggle would be too.

Demi Miles. That was her name – he'd got it from her driving license he'd slipped from her purse when they collided. Sam couldn't be sure from just her body language alone who she was talking to now, but it seemed friendly, maybe even flirty from the way a blush stained her cheeks, and she twirled her blonde hair around her finger. It could've been her husband, Jackson, but then again the poor guy worked sixteen hour stints at the office and barely had time to have  _ this  _ kind of conversation with his wife at four in the afternoon. Sam had never seen Jackson make her smile like that, anyway. His jaw tightened when he considered the real possibility that the person on the other end of the phone wasn't just a friend, that they were the person who got a piece of her that her husband clearly wasn't getting.

Sam's ringtone cut through the silence of his car and forced his eyes away from the blonde in the window, as he reached in his pocket and saw it was Dean.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, glancing at the bag of limes on the passenger seat. “Yeah?” he answered.

“Dude, how long does it take you to get limes?” Dean's annoyed voice cut through the quiet.

“Sorry, urr – the market was out, had to drive a little further out. I'm on my way back now, though,” Sam lied, glancing at the window again to see Demi was still laughing into her conversation and now gently stroking her fingers along her collarbone.  _ Soon -  _ Sam soothed himself when he felt his cock stir from just looking at the column of her throat. It wasn't definitive, but it was enough for now. When Sam saw her again, it would be the only proof he needed. The only proof he cared about, and it wouldn't be long. He'd make sure of it.

“Hurry up, will you? Your shift ends in an hour and you've been fucking skiving for most of it,” Dean grunted the other end of the line.

“Alright, I'm coming,” Sam huffed.

He hung up and shoved his cell back into his pocket, starting his engine and luckily, Demi moved away from the window, so Sam could no longer watch her anyway. He took one last glance at the house and pulled off, heading back to the bar. Luckily it was only a fifteen minute drive away. He normally wouldn't hunt so close to home, but Y/N being around meant he didn't have as much free time as he used to, so he had to take what he could get. He knew in the next few weeks he would start to get anxious again, the need to kill overwhelming him. He wasn't himself when he'd been without that high for too long. Like an addict without a fix; and killing had become an addiction. The feeling of her pulse slowing to a stop beneath his fingers, watching the life drain from her eyes, knowing he was ridding the world of one more unfaithful little slut; it was all addictive. Something he couldn't get enough of.

If he didn't kill every few months, he'd start feeling on edge, jittery and nervous, unfocused and irritable. He'd come to rely on it. He'd come to crave it, to not just want it but  _ need it.  _ He needed this. He needed the careful routine he'd formulated, the meticulous hunt and the perfect kill. He needed the control or he didn't want to think about what would happen otherwise. Not only was each kill special to him, scratching an itch deep inside him - the high of taking someone's life - it was thrilling in other ways, too. Each time he got away with it, each time he wasn't caught or arrested and he was able to do it again, raised a whole new thrill inside him. The adrenaline was like nothing he'd ever known. Maybe this kill being so close to home would be even more thrilling still. Sam couldn't imagine it possibly getting better – but he didn't imagine it after the first time, or the time after he realised he liked blondes, or the time after he cracked the code and strangled Jenny. But each kill since Jenny, each hunt and strike was just as perfect. They'd never mean as much to him as Jenny or Kelly did, of course, but they did more than enough to satisfy him.

-

Sam came home that evening to Y/N surrounded in crime scene photos. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, his eyes glancing over gore and blood and dead bodies, and the flashing reminders of Demi stroking her collarbone filled the empty spaces between the photos he couldn't take his eyes off of. Y/N was leaning over them, snapping photos on her phone.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he closed the door behind him. He approached her slowly, afraid she'd notice his erection as it started to swell behind his jeans.

“I'm sorting out all the evidence and my notes from the different crimes I studied in college. Does it make me weird if I say I missed these?” Sam had missed them too. He'd forgotten how much it had turned him on seeing them litter her wall in Stanford. How he'd fucked her against them that first time when he lost control. But he was better than that now. He had control now.

Sam subtly pushed his hand in his pocket, making his erection a little more comfortable and chuckled softly. He pulled his hand out of his pocket quickly and reached down to grab one of the photos - the one he kept glancing at. She was bound to the bed, blood trickling from her neck, and whilst that method was tried and failed for Sam, he could still appreciate the beauty of a kill that way. He couldn't deny there was something special about watching the blood ooze out over her pretty little throat, and Carrie had choked so beautifully. He felt his erection throb behind his jeans and begrudgingly dropped the photo again.

“No, it's not weird. I love your messed up mind,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Geez, thanks,” she scoffed, laughing slightly. He bit his bottom lip as his hazel eyes scanned the photos spread out. He needed her. He needed relief.

“Got much left to do?” he pressed.

They discussed her getting a job at The Bunker for a brief moment, but Sam couldn't let them get sidetracked.

“But enough about that because I-” Sam leaned down and kissed the space next to her ear, his eyes glancing at the photo of the woman still clutched in her hand, “-haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day,” he purred quietly. A lie that she easily bought.

Sam got her into the bedroom, the photo now laying on the nightstand staring up at him as he got Y/N onto her hands and knees so she wouldn't see his attention was elsewhere. He was inside her in an instant, unable to hold back any longer. He’d gotten used to being rough and greedy with girls, his victims were always into the kinky shit, wanting to be roughed around and treated like crap. He had a type, clearly. But that had soon bled into his personal life with Y/N. It had taken her some time to get to that point, but she'd never once complained every time his touch got rougher, or his words got nastier. And although he knew he'd never cross that line with Y/N, it was fun to dance along it.

“Fuck yes, fucking take it,” he growled, not taking his eyes off of the image on the night stand. He imagined what he'd have done to that woman, how he'd have done it differently. He wondered exactly what her killer did to her before that glorious moment when he drained the life from her via her throat. Fucking slut probably deserved it, whatever it was.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted. He realised he'd said it out loud, but Y/N moaned all the same and so Sam went with it. His mind wandered to Demi, the other whore he had to deal with. She was going to get what was coming to her.  _ Soon, soon soon  _ Sam soothed again. He nudged himself impossibly deeper, feeling Y/N clench around him similarly to the way his victims did. It was his undoing. “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Sam chanted, his fingers digging into her ass until he was collapsing on top of her. He slowly pulled out, breathing heavily as he released her head from being pressed into the pillow and crashed down next to her.

They both lay there, catching their breaths for a few moments until Y/N spoke up again, shattering any illusions of fantasies that still lingered in Sam's mind. She wanted to talk about that fucking bar again. But then she moved the conversation onto her getting her own place, and as much as Sam wanted to have his privacy back, so he could hunt without worrying again, so he could jerk off to the polaroid pictures kept in a locked box under his bed, he liked the idea of Y/N's crime scene photos acting like makeshift wallpaper in his living room. He liked the idea of having her there to fuck the frustrations away whenever he wanted. And he did, he supposed, enjoy her company too. He guessed he did love her in his own - albeit twisted - way.

“So, I'm moving in... officially?” Y/N checked, a type of excitement and joy Sam had never quite been able to experience himself. But he couldn't deny it was nice seeing it on her. Sam sat up and cupped the side of her face, his eyes glancing over her shoulder for a moment as he looked at the photo again, and he knew he was making the right decision when he looked back at Y/N.

“Yes, you and your murder photos are staying.”

  
  


-

Y/N and her photos were staying, which meant Sam's photos had to go. He couldn't risk Y/N finding them. She was curious by nature thanks to her obsession with becoming a reporter, and she was smart - smart enough to come up with some pretty plausible theories about cold cases that some professionals hadn't. Sam admired her for that, and he'd be damned if that, if  _ she _ was his downfall. And so, when Y/N had her first official shift at the bar and he left her and Dean talking over stuff, he drove a few miles out to a unit rental place. 

It seemed excessive, and if anyone asked what it was for, he'd have to come up with something, but for now it was all he had. These units were private and they were safe, and so what they'd only be holding a few holdalls of equipment or evidence - it was all safer there than at home where Y/N could find it. Besides, he liked having his own space. His own little box to plot in. Every visit there would mean he was about to hunt, or about to strike, or had just killed. And besides the road outside Demi's place, Sam was fairly sure, this was going to be his new favourite place to be. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Tags:** angst, flirting, unwanted attention, jealous!Sam, smut, p in v, semi-public sex, mentions of multiple orgasms

**Chapter WC:** 2539

\- - -

**_Your POV_ **

“Are you sure you don't mind?” you asked, tacking another photo to the wall. You stepped back to admire it, making sure things were where you wanted them. You'd been keeping your eye on the news the last couple of weeks, hoping to find a current case to report on, but there didn't seem to be anything around, not close enough for you to realistically be able to investigate, so you'd decided to go back to an old case with fresh eyes, hoping you could finally crack it. It was the one you were studying when Jess died, and given everything that had happened around then, your mind wasn't solely focused on the case, so maybe you'd missed something, or maybe you just didn't give it enough of your attention. You positioned the photos of the victims in a line, the four teenage girls smiling back at you, almost taunting you. It made you so sad to think they were dead now, they'd had their lives stolen from them before they'd truly begun, and yet their killer still walked free  _ somewhere. _

You felt Sam's hands reach up for your shoulders and squeeze them gently.

“Already told you, baby, I don't mind at all,” he reassured you. You glanced back over your shoulder to look at him, and offered him an appreciative smile as his eyes scanned the wall. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your neck, and you giggled at the sensation it shot down your spine, pulling away slightly.

“We've got work in twenty minutes,” you reminded him gently. It was a Friday night, so you, Sam, Dean and Cas would be working until late, given it would be busy. You'd settled quite well at the bar. You were still not great at remembering long orders, and there were things that Sam or Dean would have to do for you, like changing barrels or reaching for the bottles on the higher shelves, so you were far off being able to work shifts alone, but you did enjoy doing something a few days a week, and meeting new people.

Men were naturally flirty with you, especially after a few drinks, and you figured pretty early on it was just part of the job. You never felt unsafe or uncomfortable because Sam or Dean were always around, and the couple of times they'd had to have a word with any overfamiliar guys, they'd backed off. For the most part you liked the job, and you felt it suited you, talking to people, listening to their life stories and their troubles. The clientele was mainly men, but there were girls that came in from time to time and Dean had no issue serving those, slipping them the odd free drink and letting the prettiest ones hang around after last call. Dean was a flirt; that you'd learned almost immediately. He was so good at it you found yourself getting carried away sometimes, naturally flirting back, much to Sam's disapproval. But it never meant anything and it never would, you were sure Sam knew that really. Dean was born for this job, he even looked the part whenever he would dry glasses and wipe down tables. Sam not so much – but he was still a natural at it.

“Twenty minutes is plenty of time,” Sam purred against your neck, bringing your mind back into focus.

“That's nothing to brag about,” you scoffed. Sam chuckled and dropped his hands to your hips, pulling you back tighter against his body. “Anyway, you'll mess up my hair, and I don't have time to fix it. You know I get more tips when I look pretty.” He stopped for a second, just a brief moment, before kissing the space by your ear.

“You always look pretty,” he told you, “why do you think I wanna fuck you so badly all the time?” You giggled and tried to pry his hands away, but he wrapped them tighter around your waist. “You're mine, I don't want them drooling over you, anyway.”

“More tips helps both of us, Sam,” you reminded him with a smirk.

“Hm, yeah, guess you're right,” Sam sighed, reluctantly pulling back from you as his arms slid from around your waist. “C'mon then, Dean will kill us if we're late on a Friday.”

-

The bar was lively, and the guy you were serving had to raise his voice so you could hear him above the noise. You leaned closer, so that he could bring his mouth closer to your ear, and you noticed how his eyes immediately dropped to your cleavage. He repeated his order, and you instantly pulled back and nodded, grabbing a glass to fill.

“You okay?” Sam asked you, as you moved towards the beer pump the guy had asked for, and you nodded your head. “Need me to have a word?”

“What? No, Sam it's fine. He was just looking,” you brushed him off. Sam glared at the guy nonetheless, and as you pulled the pump you realised nothing but foam was coming out.

“Need a barrel change,” you explained. Sam nodded his understanding and referenced for you to follow him with a flick of his fingers.

“Just going to change the barrel,” you explained to the guy as you passed.

You let Sam lead you towards the cellar door, wondering why he'd chosen now, a super busy time, to show you how to change a barrel, leaving Dean and Cas alone to serve everyone. But Sam was the boss, you supposed, so you didn't question his choice of timing as he held the cellar door open for you to start to descend the stairs. Once he'd closed the door behind him, the buzz of the bar was a lot quieter, and the lights flickered on as he followed you down.

“It's the Miller,” you explained, noticing the barrel in the corner. You headed towards it, Sam following silently behind you.

“You know, I was thinking about that case again, wonder why he stopped at four,” you thought out loud. Sam was the only person who you felt comfortable talking to about your cases. You knew he didn't mind, and given his background in law, he could sometimes offer some helpful advice. The few times you'd mentioned anything remotely murder related to Dean he just frowned at you like you were insane. But Sam always let you indulge in it. “Like did he die? Did he move on? I might look at surrounding cities, see if anything similar comes up,” you continued as you grabbed the barrel and attempted to move it by yourself. It was heavy, and the best you could do was drag it a little away from the others it was nestled with. “You don't just hunt down four teenage girls for  _ weeks  _ at a time, rape them over and over again, slit their throats and then just... stop after four. Killers like that don't just stop, they can't. Not unless they're caught or die.”

You turned around to see that Sam was looking at you with darkened eyes, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” you shook your head, clearing your throat. “Not the time. Can you help me move this over to the pipe?” you asked. You moved out of his way and watched as he lifted the barrel, his muscles bulging deliciously in his t-shirt as he placed it next to the older one, but still far enough away that you could remove the old one first. Sam dusted his hands on his jeans, and you instantly went to the old barrel. “Wanna show me how to get the connector off?” Sam was by your side in seconds, and he reached down.

“You wanna squeeze here,” he explained, his voice a little more gruff than normal. God you loved when he used that voice, it shot straight to your core just thinking about it. “Twist left and pull as you twist,” he continued. You did as you were told until the pipe was coming loose, and eventually came away from the barrel completely.

You took the liberty of moving the empty barrel yourself as it was light enough, placing it alongside the other empties, before heading back to Sam.

“Just need to move this closer now,” you told him.

“You're gonna need to bend over the barrel,” Sam ordered next. You frowned a little, confused why you'd need to do that, and laughed slightly.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he demanded. You bit your bottom lip at his sternness and stepped up to the barrel, gripping the edges and bending over slightly. Maybe he was showing you how you could move it yourself. You felt Sam step up behind you and smooth his hands over your hips to the front of your jeans.

“Don't think this is how you change a barrel,” you commented, a little breathless at the feel of his hands on your body. You bit your bottom lip again as you felt him press his crotch against your ass, and you could swear he was hard.

“This is how  _ we  _ are gonna change a barrel,” he informed you. You could hear the smirk in his voice as he started to pop open the buttons of your jeans.

“Sam, we're busy, we don't have time,” you protested, feeling him slide your jeans and panties down over your ass, leaving them bunched at your thighs. His hand smoothed to between your legs, his fingers stroking through your heat as he hummed softly underneath his breath. “What if Dean comes down here?” you tried.

“He's free to watch me take what's mine.” Sam's voice, deep and gritty, shot through your entire body, let alone his words. You whimpered slightly feeling the rough scratch of denim against your sensitive bundle of nerves as you instinctively rocked your hips back against his touch.

There was no mistaking that he was hard now as you heard the familiar jangle of his belt and then the zipper of his jeans undoing.

“Maybe we should get that guy down here too, make sure he knows he's been chatting up my property,” Sam added cooly as he released his throbbing erection and rubbed it through your slick.

“Fuck,” you gasped, barely above a whisper. You gripped the edges of the barrel even harder, fingers starting to buzz, your thighs digging painfully into the metal, but you didn't care.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you, baby? Like having an audience whilst I fuck you in this damp cellar, like a nasty little whore.”

“Jesus, Sammy, please,” you begged, grinding your hips back against him.

Sam obliged, thrusting forward and filling you completely as your eyes began to roll. He fucked you hard and fast, one hand gripping around your shoulder pulling you back into him, the other gripping your hip to keep you steady. The slap of skin on skin filled the dingy cellar, the buzz of upstairs still lively and only growing louder the later it got and the more people drank. You were trying not to moan too loudly, despite knowing that no one would hear you up there, anyway. The cellar door creaked open and your heart stopped for a second.

“Getting busy up here, hurry up will you?” Dean called down.

“Almost done,” Sam called back, an heir of casualness to his voice you wished you could've mustered so easily.

He snapped his hips forward harder and faster once the door had closed again, and growled, the barrel scraping along the concrete floor ever so slightly as he fucked you closer and closer to his release. He started to grunt, holding you painfully tightly, but before you could complain, he pulled out abruptly. You assumed he was almost done, so you automatically turned around to face him, falling to your knees on the cold floor at his feet, and tipping your head back with your mouth wide open. But Sam was stepping back, panting as he put himself away. You frowned slightly, sure he wasn't done, and he glanced at you for a second.

“We'll finish this later,” he explained briefly. You swallowed and nodded, still confused but you didn't question it as you rose to your shaky feet and pulled your jeans back up.

Sam had put himself away now, and was carrying the barrel over to the pipe, connecting it without waiting for you. He turned around, and without looking at you, headed for the stairs. You made sure you were composed before following him.

“He's probably dead,” Sam spoke up, climbing the stairs.

“What?” you pressed.

“Your killer – probably dead.”

“Oh right, yeah,” you agreed. Sam stepped back into the busy bar and you followed, a little flustered as he immediately returned to serving a customer. You headed over to the pump and tried again, getting some drink through now.

You finally served the guy, unsurprisingly not getting a tip despite apologising for the delay several times, and quickly poured yourself a shot of whisky, knocking it back before Dean or Sam could comment on it. You glanced over at your boyfriend as he served another person and worried your bottom lip, wondering what all that was about. Was he jealous of the attention you got from customers? 

“Okay, who's next?” you asked, pushing it to the back of your mind, as you returned to your job.

-

Sam had been a little distant and a whole lot agitated in the four days after Friday night. You wondered if it was because of what had happened in the cellar. But later that night after your shift, when you took a couple of moments to pin the remaining few photos to your collection, Sam had made good on his promise of finishing what you started by fucking you against your  _ murder wall, _ just like the first time, except this time, there was no guilt there, just a hell of a lot of built up tension from earlier on that day. So you had to assume that wasn't bothering him, not after the multiple times he'd made you cum, and how hard he'd shot his load into the back of your throat.

You'd reluctantly gone for your late shift with Dean the day before, leaving Sam home alone and brooding, and when you returned he was already tucked up in bed asleep. That morning he was out for a run when you got up. You'd made you both breakfast for his return, in a hope to cheer him up, but he came through the door in extremely high spirits, so you assumed whatever had been bothering him was resolved. He kissed your cheek lovingly and thanked you for the food as you flicked through the news channels like you did regularly, on the hunt for a local crime to cover. You stopped, a news headline catching your eye.

“ _ This morning thirty one year old Demi Miles was found strangled to death in her own home. There are currently no suspects and police are urging anyone with any information to come forward.”  _

“Shit, that's local!” You gasped, turning up the volume. Sam dropped his toast and stared at the screen with you. “Sam! I might have found my first real case!” 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Tags:** angst, jealous!Sam, arousal from murder, semi public sex, stalking, flirting, p in v, rough sex, cheating, choking, struggling, strangulation, murder 

**Chapter WC:** 4324

-

  
  


**_Sam's POV_ **

Sam hated the way that Y/N and Dean flirted sometimes. Dean had always had this way with girls and that bugged Sam. He was so good at smooth talking them, charming them and making them blush and giggle. He hated it in school, when Dean would constantly be hooking up with different girls, and Sam often had to walk home alone or hang around school until Dean was done using whatever store cupboard he'd found himself in. Sam hated it as Dean got older and could go out drinking and he'd bring a girl home and be less than quiet about it, or he just wouldn't come home at all until morning and Sam would get worried. And as soon as Dean started working behind the bar, and Sam was subjected to watching Dean chat up anything that walked into the place in a dress, he knew it was just  _ Dean's  _ way with women and he had to suck it up and overlook it. 

That was until Dean met Y/N. Dean had never met Jess. Sam didn't want Jess to have anything to do with the life in Kansas he'd been desperate to leave behind. And it wasn't  _ Dean  _ that he wanted to leave – it was the bar and Dad and everything that the two things represented to him. Dean was about the only good thing that Sam had left behind. But still, it was easier to just not talk about that life to Jess, to keep his answers vague and disinteresting whenever Jess mentioned home or him visiting it. Sam had met her family a handful of times, even before her death. But, despite her curiosity, Sam had managed to keep Jess and Kansas away from each other. So besides the few girlfriends that Sam had in school that were too young to grab Dean's attention anyway, Sam had never experienced this before. Y/N was the first serious relationship he'd had that had anything to do with Dean, or The Bunker, or life in Kansas.

Sometimes, it was a bit too close to comfort for Sam. Particularly now that Y/N worked and lived with him, but he was adjusting slowly, and at least Dad wasn't around anymore. He was pleased that Dean and Y/N got on well, and that it wasn't awkward between them, but he was far from happy that Dean's way with women hadn't faltered, not even for Y/N. Sam told himself it didn't mean anything, Dean would never take things further with Y/N, even if he ever wanted to – Y/N wasn't his  _ type _ , anyway – and Sam was fairly confident that Y/N would never be capable of cheating on him either. But he'd felt that sure about Jess – and look what happened there. And he wouldn't be made a fool of again – he'd make sure of it. But for now, it seemed harmless enough. He at least trusted Dean. 

The shift was busy, but Sam still had time to watch Y/N, keep an eye on her and note how many guys were checking her out. He kept a check on his anger for the situation most of the night. They had had a few girls work for them before, but they never stuck around long because the men that came to their bar were clearly so deprived of sex or any kind of female attention for that matter, that they turned into leaches, and the girls ended up realising they couldn't handle that level of attention and quitting in the end. Sam's fairly sure Dean's flirty nature didn't help either. Sam's almost positive Dean fucked at least some of them, probably how they even got the job. But at least it's not how Y/N got the job – though she was fucking one of them, he supposed. But at least he was keeping her close, keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't stray, and he knew Dean would be the first person to tell him if Y/N was getting a little too reciprocal with the punters. 

It was when he noticed Y/N lean in closer to one guy, giving him an eyeful down her shirt, that Sam couldn't leave it alone anymore. He'd asked her if everything was okay as she approached, but her carefree shrug as she told him it was fine was the last thing Sam needed. He didn't want to come across as controlling or possessive, but he also couldn't let her forget who she belonged to, that other men didn't get to be  _ like that  _ with her. Sam trusted Dean, Sam could tolerate Dean flirting with her, but not those strangers, and she shouldn't let them either. Sam had purposefully let the barrel get too low, knowing it would need changing eventually and he'd have the excuse to take Y/N from the bar for a moment, unless Dean or Cas went and changed it first. 

Luckily, Y/N was the one to make the discovery, and Sam was far too eager to get her down into the cellar. He let her ramble on about the cold case she'd picked back up as she sought out the barrel they needed. He could remember the victims' faces before the photos from her old dorm room, even made it up on his wall at home. How could he forget, when it was that very crime that had driven him to fucking her against the wall for the first time several years ago? There was something quite nostalgic to see that crime again. 

“You don't just hunt down four teenage girls for weeks at a time-” Sam knew the thrill of a hunt well now, could appreciate the time and energy that went into them, “-rape them over and over again,” imagine having the time to keep them alive, to toy with them and take what you want for as long as you want until you got bored? “-slit their throats and then just... stop after four.” Sam's cock was hard now, just thinking about it. “Killers like that don't just stop, they can't. Not unless they're caught or die.” She was right, of course, Sam couldn't imagine anything stopping him now. It was addictive, a feeling you don't just get over and move on from. 

He snapped back to reality to help her carry the barrel and even showed her how to disconnect the old one, but as he watched her bend over and place the empty barrel down, he palmed over his jeans and decided he couldn't let her go back upstairs, not until he'd gotten what he needed from her. 

“You're gonna need to bend over the barrel,” Sam ordered. After a little confusion she did as she was told, and Sam was eager to run his hands over her body and get inside her jeans. 

“Don't think this is how you change a barrel,” she commented, a little breathless. Sam smirked, his cock throbbing.

“This is how  _ we _ are gonna change a barrel,” he informed her.

“Sam, we're busy, we don't have time.” Sam ignored her, feeling how wet she was for him and  _ fuck _ , he needed that. “What if Dean comes down here?”

“He's free to watch me take what's mine.” Sam almost  _ wanted  _ Dean to come down to the cellar and witness this. The gentle reminder of who Y/N belonged to wouldn't hurt him, either.

At first, it was scratching that itch that Sam had, the one that needed to remind Y/N who she belonged to. The one that needed to reclaim her. But the itch ran deeper than that, and Sam knew it. He knew the only thing that was  _ truly  _ going to sate him was Demi, and he was so close to being ready now. He just needed to wait a little longer. But the very thought of finally getting his hand around her pretty little throat had Sam fucking into Y/N harder and faster, until the cellar door creaked open, and Sam eased up.

“Getting busy up here, hurry up will you?” Dean called down. Sam bit into his bottom lip, his concentration and the thought of Demi was fading from his mind.

“Almost done,” he called back. He tried to refocus his brain, tried to remember Demi's face, imagine fucking into her as he choked the life out of her eyes, but Dean had ruined that and Sam's relief was fading fast, and he could barely keep his cock hard let alone cum. His fingertips buzzed, he was gripping Y/N so tightly, and eventually, he gave up and pulled out, grunting in frustration. 

Sam was putting himself away, barely realising Y/N had gotten to her knees at his feet, like she was expecting some grand finale.

“We'll finish this later,” he explained briefly, barely looking at her as the frustration settled under his skin. 

He'd managed to keep his promise once they'd returned home. Y/N placing the last few photos on her murder wall had re-awoken Sam's arousal, and he fucked her against the wall like he had the day Jess died - hard and fast, feeling her come undone around him, over and over as he chased his release with his eyes fixed on blood and vacant stares. 

-

The high of fucking Y/N wore off after only a day, and Sam knew it was pointless trying to sate the burning need in his gut with Y/N, because she was never going to give him  _ everything  _ he needed – not if he wanted to keep her around. But Demi could. In fact, Sam's mind was taken up by very little else but  _ Demi Demi Demi  _ for the next three days. The timing was perfect. Jackson was away for a few nights on some business trip, and according to the messages back and forth in the group chat with her girlfriends, Demi was making the most of it, by hitting the town for some drinks. Learning to hack into cell phones and laptops had been one of the biggest helps for Sam. People these days were idiots, not realising how much information they shared online, how everything was connected thanks to the online world. Sam only needed to hack into Demi's cloud and he had it all there at his fingertips. Her messages, her emails, her photos and videos. The texts to a  _ Courtney _ , who was very obviously a guy, confirmed Sam's suspicions that Demi was less than faithful. The nudes she'd blessed  _ Courtney  _ with, had been put to good use by Sam, too, as he imagined the moment that was fast approaching. 

With Demi hitting a bar with a friend and Y/N working a late shift with Dean that night, Sam found the perfect opportunity to strike. Sam had used a work out as his excuse to visit his lock up, and the second he pulled up outside it he felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement pumping through his veins, like a kid at Christmas seeing the presents under the tree. The lock up was practically empty, and Sam wasted no time, grabbing the small bag with his polaroid camera and box of condoms inside. He took a moment to open up the box of keepsakes and sort through the photos of his victims, feeling himself get aroused, and he glanced around him, despite knowing he was completely alone, before palming over his growing erection. But he had to wait. It was so very nearly time. He put the photos away and took the camera and the condoms with him back to the car, making sure to lock up properly. 

-

Sam parked across the road from Demi's house and waited to see her stepping out of her house and locking it behind her, before walking down her driveway and out onto the street. The bar she'd arranged to meet her friend at was only a few minutes down the road, so Sam assumed she'd be walking, and waited a little before getting out of his car to follow on behind her, leaving a decent amount of space. It wasn't long before Sam's eyes clocked the bar, and he glanced around for street cameras before turning the corner onto the main street. There didn't seem to be any; it was only a small town. But Sam had no doubt that the bar itself would have some, unless it was anything like The Bunker whose cameras had been needing to get fixed for three years now. Sam couldn't bank on that. He had to play it smart like he always did. He rounded the corner after an appropriate amount of time and entered the bar, immediately clocking Demi's blonde hair again as he slid himself alongside her, and ignored her to order a drink. She was busy talking to her friend as they caught up. 

“So he's away tonight and tomorrow?” her friend checked. 

“Yeah, thank god, sick of the sight of him,” Demi complained. Sam clenched his jaw a little as he made a point not to look in her direction, and swigged his new beer. “Let's not talk about him, let's forget he exists, okay?” she pressed. Sam slipped away from the bar and slid himself into a booth in the corner of the room, where he could watch her sit at the bar and continue to talk to her friend. His eyes would occasionally scan the place for any signs of other men who might be interested and want to make their move on her; any competition Sam might need to scare away. Nothing was stopping his night from going exactly as he had planned for it to. Sam noticed as Demi grabbed her glass of wine that she'd removed her wedding rings, and he could only assume that she wanted some of the attention she was unaware he was giving her.  _ Fucking slut _ . 

Sam waited for her friend to go to the bathroom before getting up and heading to the bar to order another drink. Demi glanced at him this time, her blue eyes sparkling a little as she offered him a friendly smile, and then she did a double take and offered him a more sultry smile than before. Sam smirked across at her, and finally asked her if she'd like a drink herself. She accepted his offer and ordered another wine. She kept looking at him, and he offered her soft smiles any time their eyes locked. 

“I feel I know you from somewhere, you look familiar,” she noted, biting her bottom lip. Sam chuckled, feigning ignorance to the time he'd walked into her, and they'd shared a little exchange. The same exchange he’d obsessed over for weeks.

“Don't think so, sweetheart,” he shook his head, “Trust me, baby, I'd remember a pretty girl like you,” he told her smoothly. She blushed and took a sip of her drink, and Sam shot her a wink. Sam didn’t normally flirt like this, but he was glad to see she was buying his little charade. “Have a nice night with your friend.” He made his way back over to his booth, and was happy to see her stealing glances every so often in his direction. 

It didn't take long for her friend to leave. Whether Demi had suggested she left or not, Sam wasn't sure, but as soon as Demi was alone, she looked over at Sam again and bit her lip as she approached him. She was a lot more drunk than she'd been during their last exchange, her eyes a little glazed over as she approached his booth. 

“Hey, so urm, my friend left and I'm not ready to go home, and I don't wanna drink alone,” she told him softly, “and well, I saw you were alone too...” she prompted. 

“Sit down,” he offered. She smiled brightly as she slipped into the booth alongside him. 

“I'm Demi by the way,” she told him. 

“Paul,” Sam replied. She was going to be dead by the end of the night, but Sam could never be too careful. 

“So how come you don't wanna go home?” he pried, taking a swig from his empty beer bottle. 

“Oh, it's big and empty, and I don't like sleeping alone,” she told him, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked up at him. This was far too easy, Sam was almost insulted he didn't need to try. 

“That's a shame. Gorgeous girl like you should never have to sleep alone,” he commented. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Unless... you...” she cleared her throat, and Sam smirked behind his beer bottle. 

“You barely know me,” he commented. “I could be a murderer,” he smirked. She laughed him off, her hand landing on his thigh. 

“A hot guy like you? I'm willing to take that risk,” she purred, “so what do you say? Fancy keeping me company, Paul?” Sam glanced around the bar, it was more of a dive than The Bunker, he was surprised Demi had chosen a place like this, given her class and her  _ better than you  _ attitude. But maybe she'd chosen somewhere that she didn't go with Jackson, maybe she was hoping people wouldn't know her in somewhere like this, given it was so close to home. 

“Sure,” Sam agreed after a moment, “how can I say no to that?” She giggled and glanced nervously around the bar. 

“This is a small town, and people talk, so what do you say about meeting me out back in five minutes?” she pressed. Sam's smirk only deepened.  _ Oh Demi, you're even more perfect than I thought.  _

“Not ashamed of me, are you, sweetheart?” he teased. Before she could defend herself Sam chuckled. “Out back in five, got it,” he agreed. She offered him an appreciative smile, and slid out of the booth before smoothing down her dress and leaving. Sam relaxed back, playing with the empty bottle on the table top for a moment, eyes scanning the bar for any attention his way, but no one seemed to bat an eyelid at his presence. He sighed and got up, heading to the bathroom to freshen up, feeling the anticipation build inside him, and instead of leaving the normal way, he took the back exit. 

He found Demi waiting for him by a stack of empty barrels, and he was pleased she hadn't changed her mind as he approached her again. She smirked at him and explained she lived close by, and they began to walk in that direction. Sam had to pretend he didn't know exactly what house was hers when they arrived, pretending it wasn't his car parked directly across the road as she let them in. He had to pretend he didn't know which room was her bedroom when she led him to it, clearly eager to get what she'd brought him there for. 

“Who's that?” Sam asked, feigning ignorance as he referenced to the photo of her and Jackson on the wall. 

“Oh right, that's urm – that's my husband,” she blushed. “Not a problem is it?” she checked. 

Sam clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, before forcing a smile to his lips to say, “Not if it isn't for you.” 

“He's a dick, cheated on me a lot when we started dating, don't know why I married him,” she briefly explained. Sam scoffed, as if him cheating gave her the right. But it didn't matter, he was solving that issue very soon. “Anyway, enough about him,” she purred, stepping closer to him. 

-

“Fuck baby, that feels so fucking good,” Demi moaned, rocking her hips back harder against him. Sam's fingers were digging into her hips so hard he was surprised she wasn't complaining about it – though like most of his victims, Demi seemed to be a bit of masochist. He sure knew how to pick them. Most of them strayed from their husbands because their sex lives were too plain or boring, or they just didn’t have one at all, so they were always up for a good time, apparently. The headboard was smashing against her bedroom wall, hard enough to chip the paint, and Sam could feel his climax drawing closer and closer now. Sam gripped her waist and encouraged her to turn around onto her back. She crashed down beneath him, panting heavily as she looked up at him and smirked, her blonde hair fanning around her head on the pillow beneath her like a crown. “I've never been fucked like this before,” she told him with a half-drunk, half-blissed out look in her eyes. 

Sam thrust back inside her, before reaching down and smoothing his hand up her chest towards her neck. He wrapped his fingers around her slender throat and started to squeeze, making her chuckle, before craning her neck to give him better access. 

“You never will again, baby,” he smirked down at her, tightening his grip. The smug smile on Demi's face started to fade the more he squeezed and pushed down, blocking her airway, and she reached up to grip at his wrist, trying to get him to let go. But Sam didn't stop, watching as she started to struggle for air beneath him, clenching and unclenching around his cock during her struggle for air. 

“Paul,” she choked out, slapping his wrist, but Sam just grit his teeth harder and squeezed tighter. She started clawing at his skin, digging her nails in to try and get him to relent, and Sam quickly gripped her hand to stop her, pinning it to her side. Her other came up instead, and Sam grunted. 

“Fucking die, you bitch,” he snarled, squeezing harder still. Her fight slowly faded to nothing, her body going limp beneath him, and as her eyes went from bright to dull, Sam felt himself come undone. 

-

Sam grunted as he stared down at his wrist, two red tram lines on the inside. He was going to have to come up with something for when Y/N inevitably asked what had happened. Maybe he could pretend he caught it on something in work. He'd scrubbed Demi's hands, under her fingernails especially, in hopes of removing any evidence, and the used condom was tied in a knot and deep in his pocket to dispose of in his own outside trash can at home. He stared at the photo from his polaroid camera of her lifeless body and smiled softly to himself, glancing to see he had half an hour to get back across town and into bed before Y/N returned from her shift. 

Sam hid the photo in his jacket pocket, set on returning to the lock up first thing, whilst Y/N was still asleep and he could pass it off as a morning run, and luckily was in bed and pretending to be asleep by the time Y/N came through the door. He didn't sleep though, not with the feeling of Demi's pulse still fading beneath his fingertips, and the ghost of her wrapped around his cock. He should've showered before Y/N returned, he knew that, but he hadn't planned on that bitch taking so long to fucking die. He lay in bed until six am, before getting up and washing, making sure Y/N was definitely still asleep when he left in his running gear to head to his lock up. 

He took one last long look at the photo of Demi before adding her to his collection, locking the box securely. He sighed as he stepped out of the lock up, knowing he had around a week before he'd feel the need to return here - even for the photographs. Demi would remain in his veins for at least several days, and he'd ride that high out, until the need to hunt again took over. He pulled the shutter down and locked up, getting back in the car to head back home before Y/N wondered where he was. He parked the car where it had been the night before, and ran up the stairs to their apartment, just to give him that post workout glow. Y/N had made eggs when he stepped inside and she looked at him sheepishly, but he gave her a genuine smile at the sight of breakfast and the smell of coffee. His high was kicking in now, and he thanked her before sitting down and tucking in. 

As usual, Y/N started flicking through the news channels – always on the hunt for her first  _ real  _ case. If only she knew what he got up to, she'd have a field day. And Sam sometimes wondered if she'd even admire him for his work. She had a strange fascination with that stuff, but something told him that his was different. That she'd never share his enthusiasm for it the same way. He swallowed his eggs and remained quiet as she stopped on a channel and turned up the volume.

_ “This morning thirty one year old Demi Miles was found strangled to death in her own home. There are currently no suspects and police are urging anyone with any information to come forward.”  _

Sam bit back the smirk, the image of Demi smiling face filling the screen, making his cock twitch a little. She looked so pretty in that photo, but,  _ fuck _ , she looked even better when she'd stopped breathing. The screen then showed footage of her husband hiding from cameras as he entered the police station. Poor bastard had no idea what a little whore his wife really was, how Sam had done him a favour. 

Y/N snapped Sam out of his thoughts by speaking up. 

“Shit, that's local!” She gasped, turning up the volume some more. Sam knew that look of excitement on her face, and a thick dread suddenly filled his stomach. “Sam! I might have found my first real case!”  _ Fuck _ .


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Tags:** talk of murder, talk of serial killer, investigation, angst

**Chapter WC:** 1933

-

**_Your POV_ **

“Oh hello, I'm calling from  _ The Daily Union,  _ we want to publish an article on Demi Miles, I was wondering if you had any information you could share?” You put on your best posh voice.

“Listen, I already told you guys we're not releasing any statements on that right now. Stop calling.” The phone was dropped abruptly, and you sighed. It was worth a shot, you supposed.

As the case was completely fresh and new, the press and the cops were keeping tight lipped about Demi's case and you'd found little more than what everyone already knew, thanks to the news broadcasts. She was thirty one, married to a guy named Jackson - who apparently wasn't a suspect - and she was a stay at home wife. No children – thank god. Allegedly she was raped, or at least had had sex, before she was strangled to death. Maybe if you could just visit her husband - but that would be inappropriate, right? He was grieving, and besides, you might get into trouble for tampering with an investigation without a press pass. This was going to be harder than you first realised. You were yet to have any experience in real life reporting, finding evidence and information for your report without sources. But everyone had to start from somewhere. You sighed heavily as you closed the three tabs you had open; all articles to do with Demi's death. You'd exhausted those enough already. All three of them boiled down to the same basic information, no matter how the writers tried to dress it up, and you were just getting more and more frustrated with the lack of information. You needed something good – something unique to get people's attention.

You logged onto your blog to see one of your articles had circulated a fair bit, and you had gained a healthy amount of followers in such a short space of time. You smiled at the four digit number, so happy people were enjoying your reports and theories. The front door opened and you glanced back over your shoulder to see Sam returning from his shift at the bar.

“Hey, good day at work?” you prompted.

“Yeah, thanks. What have you been up to?” Sam pressed, heading into the kitchen. You looked up from your laptop and leaned back in the dining chair, sighing.

“Tried to start my investigation into that local woman, Demi Miles?” you prompted. Sam opened the fridge and stuck his head into it.

“That that woman on the news, from this morning?” he checked.

“Yeah, that's the one,” you sighed.

“Any luck? What have you found out?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing we don't already know. This is gonna be harder than I thought,” you grumbled. “But in better news, I do have over one thousand followers on my blog now,” you smiled.

Sam closed the fridge and walked over to the dining table, sitting down opposite you as he opened his bottle of water and took a sip. Two red scratches down his wrist caught your attention. “What happened?” you asked immediately. Sam also glanced at them.

“Oh, caught myself on those fuckin' cellar steps in work, don't worry about it.” He brushed it off and shrugged one shoulder. “Well done on the followers, baby. Hey, maybe that's what they like, they like you studying older cases with new theories,” Sam offered.

“Maybe, but I want something real and thrilling. I want something new. I want to be a real reporter, Sam,” you complained.

“I know you do, baby, but we don't even know that Demi's death was the work of a serial killer, could be anything. Probably the husband - usually is.”

“He's not a suspect apparently,” you told him, shutting your laptop.

“Huh,” Sam pouted, before shaking his head. “Well, either way, don't get fixated on her when there haven't even been others in the area with the same MO. If there's no pattern there's probably no correlation, crim taught us that, remember,” he told you, getting up again. “Gonna take a shower.”

You watched him leave and thought about what he'd said, realising he was right. Demi was the only woman to have died that way in the area, there was no indication it was a serial killer. You clicked your tongue as you thought about it for a moment. It was a long shot. You reopened your laptop and started a new post on your blog, writing everything you knew about Demi, and asking your followers if they had heard of any similar cases wherever they were from. You already knew your following spread across the entire country, some even in other countries completely, like Australia or Europe. Biting your bottom lip, you posted the mini article, and hoped that your hunch was right – there was more to Demi's story, you were sure of it.

-

  
  


It took a couple of days, but finally you were getting replies and messages from your post about Demi on your blog. People were coming forward with similar cases in their areas, none of them more than a day's drive from where Demi was, so it was plausible the killer could've state-hopped around that general area. Some cases didn't fit Demi's, beyond the fact that they were blonde, or that they were strangled to death, but a few seemed to match perfectly, and from that you were able to start building somewhat of a profile on the killer and his MO. You started to excitedly gather the information, making a list of locations and names of victims.

  
  


Sam wasn't too happy about the fact. He kept trying to deter you from Demi's case, tried to get you interested in the cold case again, tried to offer you alternatives. He was so  _ sure  _ that Demi's murder wasn't linked to any kind of serial killer, kept telling you that the police weren't treating it as such, because it simply wasn't. He was sure you were wasting your time, and he was sure that your followers would want to read more about old cases that could potentially be solved after years of mystery than a new one. But you didn't want to listen to any of it, somewhat annoyed that Sam wasn't supporting you. This was the case you'd set your heart on, and you wanted to see it through, until either you or Sam were proved right.

  
  


You took down the cold case you still hadn't fully sank your teeth into from your  _ murder wall,  _ and promised yourself you'd revisit it again, should this investigation go cold or get solved – at least until the next one came along. You tidied them away neatly, being careful not to miss anything, and then set about tacking a map to the wall, marking the areas the victims had lived on it with red pins, and noticing they were all surrounding your general area. Was Demi the first victim close to home? Had the killer started hunting on his doorstep? Did he live somewhere close by? Just thought sent chills down your spine, but there was also a twisted sense of excitement about that. If your theory was correct, maybe another victim would turn up soon also close by – more for you to investigate easily enough. You didn't have the time or money to travel to different states for these stories, so you had to rely on whatever information you could find online, or what your followers could give you regarding most of the victims.

  
  


You tried to set up a timeline next, but there seemed to be gaps, and it was hard to establish any real pattern yet. If Criminology had taught you anything, it was that serial killers liked a routine - structure. This killer no doubt had an exact time frame he liked to hunt and kill in, and if anything disturbed that, he could become unhinged, spiral out of control and the body count could get higher, kills closer together as he escalated. If that was the case, it wouldn't be long before this guy slipped up somehow and got himself caught, anyway. And you wanted to be right along for the ride when that happened.

  
  


You went back to your laptop and started to print the photos of the victims to add to your wall. You had work in a few hours, you and Sam would have an hour together after his shift before yours started, and you wanted to be done so you could have some dinner together before work. You spoke to one woman who had given you the details of a Katie Holiday, who was twenty two and found dead in her apartment in Indiana, strangled to death like the others. She was the most recent besides Demi to have died, what with it being only a couple of months ago, and apparently the investigation was on-going, after her boyfriend's alibi of visiting his parents for the weekend checked out. She definitely fit your theory, and you thanked your follower and set about looking for as much information as you could about Katie, adding her name to your list of victims.

  
  


Your high was short lived, however, because the message you opened next was like a fist to the gut.

_ Hey, I don't know if this is what you're looking for, but I attend Stanford Uni and a few years ago apparently there was a girl who was strangled to death in her apartment, I looked it up and apparently her murderer is in prison now, but maybe he escaped or maybe it wasn't really him? Anyway, thought I'd let you know in case it's useful to you. Her name was Jessica Moore, I've attached an article. Love your blog by the way, keep up the good work. _

A thick metallic taste landed on your tongue as you read the message, and all the emotions from that time in your life you and Sam had tried to move on from were flooding back. You couldn't deny that Jess' case was similar – scarily similar, but you'd been in that courtroom, you'd seen the evidence, and you'd heard the sentencing and you'd seen how  _ petrified  _ Taylor was. This wasn't Taylor. You replied and thanked her politely, too afraid to disclose that you not only knew about Jess, but that you'd been so closely involved. You closed the message, trying not to let it get to you, and drew a deep breath, before returning your attention to the photos and information that had now printed, cutting everything out to stick on your wall and start to form your evidence.

You used string to connect some pieces of information, and started to admire your work. You were almost finished with getting it how it needed to be, when you let your eyes wander to the line of victim photos, and you stared for a moment. That follower was right to get in touch with you about Jess, she would've been the perfect fit into this MO. But she wasn't this killer's victim, that you were sure of. But as you thought about it some more, you couldn't unsee it. There were three victims on the board so far, all of which had a striking resemblance to Jessica. Blue eyes and blonde hair, sweet and innocent looking. Jessica would've fit so perfectly next to them, had you not already known the truth, and the very realisation wrapped around you like an unwanted hug, suffocating you and making you feel extremely claustrophobic.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Tags:** angst, talk of murder, arousal from murder, blowjob

**Chapter WC:** 1590

-

**_Sam's POV_ **

  
  


Like usual, recently, Sam's mind wandered to Y/N and her new obsession with Demi. He'd tried a hundred different ways to keep her away from Demi, worried she'd find out something she shouldn't – worried she was as good as she seemed when it came to figuring stuff out. She just had this way, this instinct that led her in the right direction, and he couldn't have it lead to him. She wasn't going to be the reason he got caught. That would just be humiliating. He'd tried to encourage her to study cold cases again, trying to play up how popular her blog was getting because of the work she'd already done. He'd tried to convince her that Demi wasn't the work of a serial killer, and as long as he kept his head down and his next victim was a little further afield so it didn't end up on Y/N's radar, he should be safe in that respect. But nothing was getting through to her. Y/N was stubborn and if she wanted something; if she'd set her mind to it, she was going to go through with it, regardless of what he said. Sam hated that he didn't have as much control as he'd like to have over her. She lived with him, she worked with him, he was in every part of her life, but still his grip on her wasn't quite tight enough. Maybe he could find her a different case to fixate on, one he has nothing to do with. Maybe he could find some other local crime and dress it up. He had to at least try. 

His brain felt tired as he walked through his apartment door and saw her staring at her murder wall with a far off look on her face. 

“Hey baby, you okay?” he asked tentatively. He stepped closer and felt his stomach drop nervously as he realised she was staring at his victims. Not all of them, but most of them.  _ Fuck _ . String lead from one post-it note to another, pins littered the map, there was so much of Sam on that board he felt claustrophobic. “Baby?” he prompted again, almost afraid to coax her to speak. His voice was shaking slightly, he was positive she'd already figured it out somehow. He thought he'd been clever but now that the evidence was right there in front of him, the proof of all his handy work, he realised he couldn't have been more reckless. 

“Sam,” she gasped, her eyes glazed over as she looked at him like she'd only just noticed he was there. “Hey.” She forced a smile to her lips.

“What's all this?” he asked, feigning ignorance. She looked back at the board and more tears filled her eyes as she licked her lips and drew a deep breath. 

“Right, I urm... I posted about Demi on my blog and urm,” she was flustered as she tried to explain herself, and Sam was trying his hardest not to look at the board because every time he did he would feel one of them wrapped around his cock, feel the way they thrashed beneath him as they took their last breaths. 

“Just tell me, Y/N,” Sam demanded. If she was going to tell him she knew his secret, he wanted her to just come out and say it. Maybe he could get out of this, maybe he could convince her she was reading too much into it. 

“I'm so sorry Sam, I had no idea,” she sniffled, looking at him with wide pitiful eyes. “It only dawned on me when I was putting the photos on the wall,” she continued. 

“What? Y/N you're not making sense,” Sam grunted, irritably. 

“Demi looks like Jess, they all... they all look like Jess,” Y/N stammered out. Sam swallowed thickly, his mind scrambling for a way out of this. He glanced at them briefly, but before he could say anything, Y/N spoke up again. “That's why you wanted me to drop this case isn't it? I'm so sorry Sam, I didn't think – I'm a fucking idiot. This is too close to home for you. It's bringing up memories, I'm sorry,” she flustered. “I'll take it down, I'll take it all down.” 

Sam quickly realised that he was in the clear. Y/N hadn't figured anything out beyond the connection to the victims, that they all had one killer, but she wasn't aware that it was him. A sense of relief washed over him at the realisation and he watched as she scrambled to start taking down the evidence. As she unpicked the pins from the map she started to softly cry, Sam looking at the line of faces before him. He'd never seen them so big and clear – his polaroid photos were nothing compared to this. His cock was getting painfully hard in his jeans. Y/N reached for the photo of Demi but before she could remove it, Sam reached out and placed a hand over the photo to stop her. 

“Baby, look at me,” he demanded softly. Tears gently trickled down her cheeks as she looked at him. He offered her a subdued smile and instead reached for her face. “Jess means nothing to me any more, this isn't bringing up bad feelings. The only girl I think about, the only person I care about... is you.” 

Y/N swallowed hard as she looked up at him and Sam smiled tenderly. 

“I just didn't want you to chase a dead end, but if you think these girls are connected, that you're onto something, then you should pursue it.” It had quickly dawned on Sam that having Y/N study his case could be something he used to his advantage, it would highlight where he needed to be more careful, he could control and monitor her investigation and throw her off the scent if she was getting too close. This. This is how he controlled her. “Hell, I'll help you,” he offered. Her eyes widened.

“You would?” she asked lightly. He nodded.

“Of course baby, whatever you need. I love you so much for thinking of me, but I promise I'm okay,” he reassured her, stroking his thumbs along her cheeks. 

“Okay, if you're sure,” she nodded gingerly. Sam hummed and nodded his head again, leaning down so his mouth was closer to hers.

“Very sure, baby.” He kissed her passionately and picked her up into his arms, pressing her back against the wall alongside the photos of his victims. He couldn't take his eyes off of them as he kissed her, palming at her ass cheeks as he held her against him. 

Y/N was responding exactly as he wanted her to, starting to unbutton his shirt and smooth her hands over his bare chest and torso and he dropped her back to her feet, dragging his eyes over to her so she wouldn't notice his attention elsewhere. She kissed over his neck and down his chest, pushing his shirt over his shoulders as he let it drop to the floor. Her hands started to unbuckle his belt as she kissed further down his chest, over his stomach and slid down the wall and onto her knees. Her hand brushed delicately over the noticeable bulge in his jeans and she bit back a smirk, before quickly unbuttoning his jeans to get inside. She tugged his trousers down to mid thigh, his erection springing free and Sam groaned deeply. She wrapped her delicate hand around it and brought it closer to her mouth, parting her lips and licking at the head softly. 

Sam gasped for air, his one hand flying to the back of her head, the other flat against the wall, right beside Katie's photo, and he stared into her blue eyes for a moment, so bright and full of life and nothing like he left her. The thought made him grip Y/N's hair tighter in his hand and encourage her mouth further down his cock as she started to gag. He thrust his hips hard and fast as she sucked and swirled her tongue, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Katie. Couldn't stop thinking about how fucking good she felt when she was dying in his grasp. 

“Fuck,” Sam grunted, gasping for air. Y/N whined, spluttering around him, her fingers digging into his thighs at his brutality. Sam could already feel himself getting close as he stared at Katie, then his eyes moved onto Demi, and that feeling was still totally fresh in his mind, so it helped him edge closer still. 

He realised that Y/N studying his girls meant he got to see them every day, right there in his home, large photos of blonde hair and blue eyes, reminders of fading pulses and thrashing bodies trapped beneath him. Why was he so against Y/N ever looking into Demi? This was how he gained control, this was perfect. He came hot and salty down the back of Y/N's throat, groaning loudly as he finally eased up on her head and pulled back. Y/N gasped for breath and reached up to dry her lips, offering him a soft smile as he put himself away.

“Fuck, must've needed that,” Sam excused. “I'm gonna shower. But maybe after that we can have some lunch and you can tell me all about this new case.” 

Y/N nodded as she slowly rose to her feet again. “Yeah, okay.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Tags:** talk of murder, talk of affairs, angst, talk of tension, taking erotic photos 

  
  


**Chapter WC:** 2953

-

  
  


**_Your POV_ **

Despite Sam's constant offers of help, you hadn't really taken him up on it. You were pleased to see he was eager to be involved, you were happy he genuinely didn't seem particularly bothered by the likeness to Jess that the victims shared – but you wanted to prove to yourself more than anything, that you could do this. This was your thing, your own project, and – dare you admit it – you didn't want Sam to find some key evidence. You wanted the victory for yourself. But Sam was suddenly there at every turn, asking you questions, very keen to learn as much as he could about the case and your findings, offering to look into things for you. You'd politely declined each time, and you could tell it was starting to irritate him. 

You'd not made that much headway since starting your investigation almost a month ago now, but you had narrowed down what you thought might be the killer's routine. All the victims were found naked - or practically so – and showed signs of recent sexual activity, but none of them were declared as having been raped. So they must've willingly had sex with the killer, before they were murdered. All the victims had husbands or partners of some description, though, so you had to assume they were cheating. This meant that the killer was probably younger and fairly good looking, as all the victims were attractive young women who wouldn't willingly have sex with just any guy – especially not once you'd seen their partners. All of the men were handsome and you had no idea why the girls would want to sleep with some other guy. Maybe that was part of the killer’s MO. You'd made the note  _ adulterers? _ and stuck it to your murder wall. 

“What are you up to before your shift today?” Sam asked over breakfast that morning. 

“Well actually, I thought I'd go and see Gina, Demi's friend. She was the last person to see Demi alive as far as I can tell, and I wanna know what happened,” you admitted. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at your confession, knowing Sam would be upset that you hadn't invited him along too. 

“Oh, right. Maybe it's not a good idea, Y/N. I mean, she might still be grieving and she probably won't talk to you anyway, because she won't know who you are,” Sam discouraged. You sighed slightly, sick of Sam's pessimistic view on everything to do with this case. 

“I'll lie, tell her I'm with the news or something,” you shrugged. 

“Doesn't sound legal,” Sam noted casually. You rolled your eyes and bit into your toast. “Maybe if you wait until I'm not working, I can come with you and it might make it more believable,” he offered. You let out a huff and dusted the crumbs off of your fingers on your thigh. Maybe Sam had a point. 

“Okay, fine,” you agreed, dully. It was quiet for a moment, and you didn't want to even look at Sam because you were still feeling annoyed with him. You wanted to do this by yourself, not feel babysat by your boyfriend. 

“Actually,” Sam spoke up again, clearing his throat. “You should do this alone. If I was to go with you she might be put off by two people turning up at her door and asking a million questions, and you've got a friendly face. She might open up more if it's just you.” You looked up to see Sam shrugging, like he wasn't bothered about going, but you could tell he was playing it off, and it was hurting him to not have the excuse to be involved. 

“Okay, well I'll record the interview on my phone and maybe you can listen to the audio tonight, when I get back?” you suggested. Sam looked up at you and offered you a smile. 

“That would be great, baby, I'd like that. Could maybe help you fill in some gaps.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you agreed. 

“Just urm – don't give her your real name or any personal information about you, if the cops find out you're interviewing her without a license to, you might get in trouble and we can't have that.” He offered you a soft smile and you nodded your head in agreement. 

“Yeah, of course, I'll be careful.”

-

You drew a deep breath and checked the house number on the side of the door frame before knocking confidently. The door opened to reveal a pretty brunette with piercing green eyes. 

“Oh hello, Gina Monroe?” you asked politely.

“Yeah...” she trailed off, frowning slightly. 

“Hi, I'm Adele Summers, I work for an independent newspaper and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your friend Demi?” She frowned at you. 

“Where's your badge thing?” she asked, sceptically. 

“I'm sorry?” you pressed, swallowing hard.

“All the other reporters had a badge thing, that meant they were official,” she explained. 

“Oh, urm, like I said, we're independent,” you offered her a forced smile. 

“No thank you,” she replied, about to shut the door in your face.

“Wait! Gina wait! I think Demi was killed by a serial killer!” You blurted out. The door didn't quite close and Gina peeked around the edge to look at you again. 

“Serial killer? The cops didn't say anything about that,” she told you. 

“I've got a – an online blog and I've found other girls just like Demi, from all across the country, and I just want to understand more about Demi, see if I can to help narrow this down, so when I take this information to the cops, they'll take me seriously.” Gina sighed and opened the door wider. 

“Come in,” she offered. 

“Thank you.” You smiled widely at her and she led you towards her dining room, offering you a seat at the table. She offered you a drink next, but you politely declined.

“Do you mind if I record the interview?” you asked, getting your cell out. 

“Go for it,” she smiled softly. You started recording and placed your cell down between you both. 

“Okay, so can you tell me a little bit about Demi. What was she like?” 

“Demi was my best friend. She was adventurous, couldn't sit still. She got bored really easily. She always had to have plans and something to look forward to. When her and Jackson got married it got worse. He wanted kids, you see, and she wasn't ready, and I think that made things hard between them.”

“So her and Jackson had problems?” you asked carefully. 

“What couple doesn't? They were good together, high school sweethearts, but he loves his job and he's only ever wanted the whole white picket fence, two point five kids, you know...” She trailed off, picking at her acrylic thumb nail. “Demi wanted to travel the world and do fun stuff.” 

“Urm, did Demi ever mention cheating to you, or having affairs?” you asked awkwardly. Gina swallowed hard and sighed, pursing her lips for a moment. 

“Well, she's dead now, so I guess it doesn't matter.” She seemed to be talking to herself and she sat forward some more. “Yeah, there were several other guys,” Gina admitted. “She loved Jax, she really did – but she hated how much he worked and they just rarely, you know... had sex. She got bored. I know she was talking to a couple of guys online a lot and whenever Jackson went away with work she'd wanna go out drinking. She thought I didn't know that she was hooking up with guys after I left, and I never corrected her, but it was obvious. Those nights out she'd constantly be looking for a guy to take home.”

“Wow,” you couldn't help but say, your eyes widening slightly at her statement. 

It grew quiet and then you spoke up again.

“So, do you think one of those guys could've been her killer?” you pressed. 

“Maybe, who knows. I think the cops are checking them out, but most of them are clean. It's not illegal to talk to a married woman.” You nodded your understanding. Maybe her killer was just a stranger, it sounded like she wasn't opposed to sleeping with them on nights when her husband was away.

“I know you're probably sick of talking about it, but can you walk me through your night?” you asked. 

“We went to Marlow's, it's a rougher bar on the main street, but Demi didn't wanna get seen by any of Jax's friends. We were there for a little while, having some drinks and chatting. She didn't want to talk about Jackson, apparently he'd annoyed her, but she didn't say why, probably something stupid, and then she must've spotted some guy, because she spent most of her night not really listening to me and eventually said she was gonna head out, and I knew the drill. I left before her, so it wasn't awkward and urm – that was the last time I -” Gina trailed off and shook her head. 

“Do you have any idea what this guy might've looked like? Any men in there that caught your eye as someone Demi would want to sleep with?” Gina sighed and played with her fingers in her lap. 

“I don't know, someone behind me maybe, she kept looking over my shoulder, towards the back of the bar, but I didn't notice anyone in particular. We were basically the only women there that night. Most men were checking us out or flirting with us, offering to buy us drinks and Demi loved the attention. It could've been anyone.” You sighed, feeling a little defeated by Gina's answer. 

“Okay, well thank you, Gina. Do you mind if I take your number, in case I have any further questions?” you checked. She smiled and as you stopped the recording you gave her your cell. 

“So a serial killer?” she prompted. 

“I think so, I can keep you updated if you'd like?” you asked. She nodded. 

“Yeah, please. I just wanna know what happened to her. I need that closure.”

“Of course, thank you for your time.”

-

You only had an hour before your shift at the bunker started and it was a twenty minute drive back into town, but you knew you had to make one pit stop at Marlow's before you left. You glanced around the fairly dead bar, noting where you believed Demi and Gina were sitting at the bar and looking over towards the back of the place, where Demi's killer could've been sitting, watching and waiting for Gina to leave. The very thought sent a shiver down your spine as the barman asked if you needed anything. 

“Hey, do your cameras work?” you asked, referencing to the one in particular that might've given you a shot of the killer, if you were lucky. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, like I told the cops, they've been shot for a few months now, can't afford to get them fixed, we're hardly sitting pretty in here,” he told you. 

“Were you working the night that Demi Miles was in here?” you asked. He frowned slightly at you. 

“This is still about her, huh? Fucking sucks what happened, but no – I wasn't working, sorry, doll.” You sighed, even more defeated than before. Nothing was going your way. But at least talking to Gina confirmed your theory that Demi was cheating on Jackson. If only you could confirm that theory about the other girls too. Maybe that was coincidence, or maybe it was part of the killer's MO.

-

Your drive back to town was quiet as you thought over everything that Gina had told you, and you thought back to the very bar Demi's killer had sat and watched her, before taking her home to end her life. It had made you distracted all the way to The Bunker, but once you got inside and saw Dean, you smiled and decided to try and forget about Demi for now. Dean was his usual cheerful self as you started your shift, and as the bar was dead, you spent most of the time joking around as you cleaned tables and washed glasses, ready for the rush that Friday night would bring the next day. You liked that you got on with Dean, and that you felt comfortable with him. Dean and Sam seemed close, especially since losing their Dad, so you would've hated it if Dean didn't like you for some reason. 

“Hey, do those cameras work?” you asked, pointing at the ones in the corners of the bar. Dean glanced at them and scoffed. 

“No, haven't worked for years,” he laughed, like the very idea was ridiculous.

“You should get them fixed. Demi Miles' killer might've been locked up already if it wasn't for bars having broken cameras,” you noted casually. 

“Hey, I've been on at Sam for months to get them done,” Dean defended, holding his hands up, “so nag your boyfriend, not me.” You giggled and shook your head. 

“Don't think I'm in his good books at the moment, I keep pushing him out of my investigation,” you commented. 

“Never understood you two and your sick obsession with that stuff. Doesn't it depress the fuck outta you?” Dean smirked. 

You shoved him playfully and giggled.

“Hey,” he complained, shoving you back and as the bar door sounded, you pulled away to see Sam entering. 

“Back so soon?” Dean asked, taking a step away from you and heading over to the other side of the bar. 

“Yeah,” he replied, looking between the two of you. You gave him a smile and placed your hands on your hips. 

“What's up?” you asked.

“Was just coming to see how your morning was, didn't see you at home during crossover,” he commented. 

“Yeah, I went to the bar to see if I could look at the footage,” you told him, wiping over the bar top. 

“And?” he prompted immediately. 

“Nothing, they were broken,” you sighed.

“Never mind,” Sam shrugged. 

“Told you, sick,” Dean teased as he passed you and you swatted the back of his head with your cleaning rag, making him duck and laugh. You bit back a smirk, and looked to see Sam frowning slightly at the two of you. 

“Hey, why don't you let me take over this shift, you can go home and look over notes,” Sam offered. 

“You just worked, it's fine,” you protested. 

“It's dead,” he argued, “and anyway, talking of broken cameras, might check out ours whilst I'm here.” 

You looked over your shoulder to Dean and watched as he shrugged. You sighed and placed the cloth down. 

“Okay, but I better still be getting paid,” you smirked. 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam agreed, kissing you as you passed him.

“Guess I'll see you tomorrow, Dean,” you called.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he called back, waving you out. You frowned slightly at Sam, wondering why he was suddenly eager for you to leave the bar, but didn't question it. Maybe this extra time to go through Gina's notes is what you needed. 

-

Dean's comment about all this stuff being depressing had been playing on your mind. It had never bothered you before, but being involved in a real life investigation, knowing the killer was still out there and could strike again any day now, made you work harder, feeling more pressure. And meeting Gina, someone who knew the victim, going to the bar Demi was supposedly hunted at – it was all adding up and making you feel a little down. You decided to take a break. Gina's interview would still be on your phone tomorrow, or the next day, and after an intense morning, you deserved a break. You ran a hot bath, putting a generous amount of bubbles in the water and lighting some candles, and soaked in there for a good half an hour before getting out and wrapping a towel around yourself. You moisturised your entire body, not usually having the time or patience to do it otherwise and then dressed in fresh underwear. 

Biting your bottom lip, an idea came to you. It had been a while since you'd taken or sent any kind of sexy photo to Sam. Ever since you'd moved in with him, there wasn't really much need to. They had become a frequent thing whilst you were still in college and you didn't get to see each other as much, and you did miss the confidence you felt when you took a good one and Sam would reply with something complimentary. You grabbed your cell and posed, trying to remember what positions you stood in for the best angles, and after a little playing around you took a couple of good photos. But as you lined them up to send them to Sam, you suddenly had a change of heart. The more you looked at the photo, the more flaws you could see and the less sexy it became. Plus Sam was working, you couldn't distract him now. It was a stupid idea, anyway. You cancelled the message and closed your phone, getting dressed and deciding that maybe you would work on Gina's interview, after all.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Tags:** stalking, snooping, spying, paranoia, jealous!Sam, mentions of murder

**Chapter WC:** 1665

_ - _

**_Sam's POV_ **

  
  


Sam was eager to learn more about what happened when Y/N interviewed Gina, eager to make sure he'd covered his tracks well enough, that the stupid bitch hadn't said anything that would be incriminating to him. Sam figured her information couldn't have been that insightful or the cops might've been onto him by now. But it only took one minute detail that Y/N could take to connect the dots to him for all of this to be over. Sam could take care of Gina if he had to, but he'd rather not draw unnecessary attention to himself. He found himself heading back to The Bunker when Y/N didn't come back to the apartment for lunch before her shift and as he walked into the place, he immediately clocked Y/N shoving Dean and laughing. Jealousy twisted in Sam's stomach at the very sight, but he told himself to ignore it. He trusted Dean.

  
  


“Hey,” Dean complained, shoving her back which made Sam's jaw clench, Y/N noticing him and stepping back quickly, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Back so soon?” Dean asked, taking a step away from Y/N and heading over to the other side of the bar. Sam looked between the two of them and nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to seem casual.

“What's up?” Y/N asked as she smiled and placed her hands on her hips. Sam pushed the exchange between her and Dean to the back of his mind and gave her a warm smile to ease any hostility that might've been forming between them.

“Was just coming to see how your morning was, didn't see you at home during crossover,” he commented.

  
  


“Yeah, I went to the bar to see if I could look at the footage,” she told him, wiping over the bar top.  _ Fuck. _

“And?” he prompted immediately.

“Nothing, they were broken,” she sighed. The relief washed over him quickly, his heart slowly returning to normal. He'd been careful in the bar, made himself look like any other punter, but Y/N would still have questions about him being there at all.

“Never mind,” Sam shrugged.

“Told you, sick,” Dean smirked as he passed her and Y/N swatted the back of his head with her cleaning rag, making him duck and laugh. Sam had no idea what Dean was teasing her about, and the fact sat uncomfortably in his stomach. He could tell Y/N was biting back a smirk, and frowned slightly. He couldn't exactly leave them alone now.

  
  


“Hey, why don't you let me take over this shift, you can go home and look over notes,” Sam offered. He glanced at their own busted security cameras. If he got them fixed up, he could keep an eye on Y/N when she was in work and he wasn't.

“You just worked, it's fine,” Y/N argued, shaking her head. Sam glanced at Dean, deciding to be stubborn.

“It's dead,” he commented, trying to keep his tone warm, “and anyway, talking of broken cameras, might check out ours whilst I'm here.” He knew that lecture was coming. Y/N would be telling him that had the cameras been working they'd have found Demi's killer by now, and what if the killer struck here next? Sam wasn't that careless, of course. Though the thought did cross his mind for a second as he considered that he could control what the cops saw and didn't, and if he became  _ part of the investigation  _ without being a suspect... that could work in his favour. But then he dismissed the idea again – it was too close to home, not with Y/N sniffing around.

  
  


Y/N looked to Dean for confirmation, and he shrugged. Dean had been suggesting they get them fixed for months and Sam had always offered to do it. He was surprised that Dean hadn't taken matters into his own hands, but he had been busy with the general running of the place, Sam supposed. Y/N seemed to give in and dropped the cloth.

“Okay, but I better still be getting paid,” she teased. Rounding the bar and heading over to him.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam agreed, kissing her when she passed.

“Guess I'll see you tomorrow, Dean,” she called to Dean, waving at him.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he waved back and Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. As Y/N left he sighed, and slapped his hands down on the bar top, at least she was gone now.

  
  


“So, what's made you finally decide to sort them out?” Dean prompted. Sam shrugged and pushed off the bar, heading towards the back office.

“Well, if Y/N's right and there is a serial killer on the loose, gotta make sure we're keeping our customers safe,” he offered.

“You don't think this serial killer theory is right, do you?” Dean nearly scoffed, but he was clearly trying to bite it back for fear of insulting Sam or Y/N.

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Nothing that exciting ever happens around here.” Dean  _ did  _ scoff this time, mocking Sam's use of the word  _ exciting  _ under his breath, but Sam ignored him and headed out back to grab his tools and ladder.

  
  


-

  
  


It took Sam the remainder of the afternoon to get the cameras up and running again, and he made sure to angle them well enough that he could see the bar clearly. He made sure the cellar and office cameras were working too, and set up a feed on his cell so he could check in on them when he wasn't around –  _ especially  _ when he wasn't around. Nothing was getting past Sam, not this time. When Sam got back, Y/N was asleep on the couch, her notes sprawled out on the coffee table and her phone sat next to them. Sam let her sleep, quietly reaching down for her notes to work out what she'd got right and what she was still not close to figuring out.  _ Cheaters?  _ was scrawled out on a post it note and Sam scoffed slightly. She always was too clever for her own good. Sometimes that put Sam on edge. It meant she was more likely to be able to fool him, and Sam couldn't have that.

  
  


He softly put her notes back down and grabbed her phone instead, watching her face closely for any sign she was disturbing, before unlocking it. He immediately went to her messages with Dean, only to see very broken conversations, one word answers and then random messages such as totals or liquor names. Sam assumed they used text to communicate in work sometimes. Of course, she could easily be deleting messages between them if they were ever too incriminating. The texts from Cas were even more sparse, only the few work related but nothing personal. Sam scrolls through some other messages, some from family, but nothing too alarming. He still can't shake the images of Dean and Y/N at the bar earlier on though, so he looks through her gallery next and immediately clicks on a photo he's not seen before, but definitely should've as her boyfriend.

  
  


Y/N is completely naked, posing seductively in front of a mirror and Sam can't help but wonder why this wasn't sent to him. She wouldn't take a photo like that for no reason, would she? She wouldn't take one for herself, and if he's not received it, then  _ someone  _ must have. But who? Dean? Cas? Did she delete more than it seems? The unanswered questions made his grip on her cell tighter and he grit his teeth. He glanced at Y/N again – still asleep – and quietly made his way to his own laptop, loading up the discreet programme he used to hack into his victims' technology. It was a little easier to hack Y/N, given that he had access to her cell and laptop; a luxury he's not had before. Once he gained access, he checked everything was working and then quickly replaced Y/N's phone before she woke up. He sat at the dining table as he leisurely snooped through Y/N's phone, now he could do it from the safety of his own, and plugged headphones in when he located Gina's interview.

  
  


Sam wasn't too worried about Gina's information. Nothing would lead Y/N to Sam, not directly, so he doesn't worry about deleting the file. He was feeling more in control now. The cameras in the bar worked, and he had a front row ticket to Y/N's investigation. Nothing was going to slip past him any more. Maybe he could finally find his next victim. Sam glanced up at Y/N and decided to head to the lock up. She wouldn't know he'd been home yet, he could blame the cameras taking longer than he thought for being late. He left as quietly as possible and climbed straight into the car to head to the lock up, a new found excitement bubbling in his stomach the whole way.

Once there he opened up, locking himself in, and took a seat at the desk he'd recently placed inside. He opened his laptop and loaded the site he'd found, dedicated to men and women who wanted affairs. Why he hadn't thought of this before, he didn't know, and obviously he'd only use the site to point him in the right direction, he wasn't stupid enough to actually  _ use  _ the fake profile he'd set up. But he could use it to find his next girl, to determine a location for him to  _ naturally  _ bump into her. At least he knew she definitely fit his MO this way. He clicked through his suggestions, brunette, red, red, blonde but she had brown eyes – no good, another brunette – then...  _ Amber, 28, Columbia.  _ Blonde hair, blue eyes, the kind of girl you didn't expect to find on a site like this. Sam's jaw clenched as he saved her profile.

Amber. She'd do nicely. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Tags** : talk of murder, talk of affairs, manipulation, angst, fluff, silly!Dean

**Chapter WC** : 1989

-

  
  


**_Your POV_ **

It had been a few weeks since your visit to Gina, and after some more digging into other victims, you'd been able to discover that they too, had been having affairs, or at the very least been talking to other men online. So your theory about the killer going after women who were willing to cheat on their partners was starting to look more and more likely. But you just needed a way to get closer. You hated yourself for wishing there'd be another victim, just so you might get some new evidence. Maybe the killer would start getting sloppy, leaving behind some clues that could get him caught. But it had been over two months since Demi's murder, so if your timings were anything to go by you wouldn't have to wait much longer. 

Unfortunately, you were right. Only three days later Amber Jenkins was victim number four, according to your research, but she could've been any number, really. Like the others, she was a beautiful blue eyed blonde, another one that was in her late twenties and was engaged. You instantly wondered if she was likely to cheat on her partner, not looking like the type – which again, fit the profile nicely. Columbia, less than seven hours drive away, but unfortunately, too far for you to be able to visit like you had done with Demi's case. Still, with a heavy heart you printed off the photo that had been circulating around the press, and pinned it next to Demi, putting Amber's information underneath. You marked with a pin on the map where her body was found, and set to work on looking into as much of her case as possible. Found dead in her bed, strangled to death, post-sex. It was no longer coincidence. Amber's death confirmed that she and the other three were linked, all victims of a serial killer. Only this time, Amber had been beaten too, all bloody and bruised. Maybe the killer was starting to spiral. 

  
  


You put a post out on your blog to ask for anyone who might be able to get in touch, regarding any information about Amber. The more details you had the better. You had decided to take this to the police, make them see the pattern for themselves, and you hoped that they'd start a real investigation into this. As much as you wanted to do this yourself, as much as you wanted to catch the killer and be the hero, real women were dying, and you were in too deep. This case needed the attention of real detectives with access to real forensics and witnesses. This was bigger than you and your blog now, but you didn't want your theory to be dismissed. You needed to be taken seriously. 

Paige Denver was the woman that got in touch with you. Paige was Amber's friend from her work place. She had told you how she'd been a fan of your blog and had never imagined Amber to be a victim. Apparently, Amber had opened up to Paige in work about being unhappy in her relationship, how she was only marrying Denny, her fiance, because he was safe and had a stable job and her family liked him. He could be controlling, apparently, so when he worked away she'd let her hair down and go out for a good time. Paige's conversation with you only confirmed what you were already fairly certain of. She fit the killer's MO perfectly. 

You'd spent most of the day making notes and putting all your ideas down as sophisticatedly as possible onto paper, gathering photos and copies of maps to support your claims, preparing to print off screenshots of conversations you'd had with people through your blog, and you were just arranging it all in some sort of order, getting ready to print what you needed to, when Sam came home from his overnight visit to a family friend, Bobby. He'd left in the morning the day before, so you smiled when you saw him.

“Hey you, what's all this?” Sam asked, his eyes glancing over the array of papers spread out over your dining table. 

“Did you hear about the new victim?” you asked him, stapling some papers together. Sam frowned and shook his head. “Amber Jenkins, same MO as the others, found dead in her own apartment last night, strangulation of course,” you briefly explained. “I'm trying to get all the information together.” 

“How come?” Sam asked, picking up a pile and glancing over it before placing it down in the wrong place. You quickly picked it up and put it back where it belonged. 

“I'm gonna – I'm gonna take it to the cops,” you sighed, hating to admit defeat. 

“Y/N, this is your case,” Sam told you, shocked. 

“I know, I know, and I'm loving working it, but women are still dying Sam, and as far as I can tell the cops still haven't made the connection,” you explained desperately. 

Sam bit his bottom lip and then drew a deep breath, lowering to his knees as he knelt in front of your chair. 

“Sweetheart, I didn't wanna have to say this but... listen, maybe the cops haven't made the connection because there isn't one. I mean, I know you think you see a pattern, but a lot of this is just circumstantial evidence.” You frowned, shaking your head.

“No, no it's not, I've got good proof here,” you argued, grabbing some papers to show him. Sam drew a deep breath and pushed the papers back towards you. 

“This evidence wouldn't hold up in court, c'mon baby, you've got most of this stuff from your little online blog. They're gonna laugh you out of the building, and I don't want them to embarrass you,” he told you softly, holding your face in his large hands. You felt anger bubble under your skin at how he wasn't taking you seriously.  _ Your little online blog.  _

Sam knew how much time and effort you put into your research, how thorough you tried to be, despite how little information you could get hold of. 

“Okay, so what I've got might not be much, but if I can just make them realise the pattern, then they can look into it themselves and...” you were getting flustered. You swallowed hard and collected your thoughts. 

“And that interview with Gina, you can't use any of it,” Sam continued, clearly ignoring what you'd just said. “Baby, you'd be admitting to talking to her without any authority, you injected yourself into the investigation, and that could land you in serious trouble.” You hadn't even considered that. “Just... think it through, okay, baby?” he asked, softly. You felt tears in your eyes, but bit them back as you nodded and let him kiss you. “I'm gonna shower, if you still wanna go to the station I'll drive you there myself, just wait for me.” 

You watched him leave and looked back at your notes. If you took Gina's interview out, maybe you'd still have enough. You sorted through the paperwork for a few moments, trying to figure something out, but as you returned to your laptop to find some of the evidence you had collected, it wasn't showing in the folder. You looked for where it could've disappeared to, and even searched your entire hard drive for it, but it was coming up empty. You could've sworn it was there moments ago, but no one had touched your laptop. Only you and Sam were here, and Sam didn't go near it. You tried to look at what you did have printed already, but it seemed pathetic, and Sam was probably right – you would be laughed out of the station. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, you resigned to the fact that you weren't ready to take this to the cops, but you were definitely ready to sleep off the disappointment. 

-

You'd tried not to let Sam's discouragement get to you the next day. If anything, it had given you a new drive to do better. There had to be  _ something _ you could do, some way you could be taken seriously by the cops. You needed to get closer. Your mind had been occupied all morning as you cleaned around the bar, preparing for opening that afternoon, and Dean hadn't let it slip past him that you were uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Just that case, there's been another victim,” you explained, sweeping the floor. 

“Maybe you should take a break, can't be healthy all that murder and shit,” he told you. “You know what you need? A good pick me up,” he smirked. He grabbed the stereo remote and before you knew it, rock music was starting to play from the speakers. “Hey?” he prompted with a grin.

“What?” You chuckled, “no, Dean.”

“C'mon, live a little. When was the last time you had a good dance?” he prompted. 

You blushed and shook your head, laughing as he started to nod his head enthusiastically to the music. 

“Oh god, I know this song, my Dad used to blast it in the car,” you giggled. 

“I'd be disappointed in you if you didn't know this song,” Dean smirked, turning the volume up. He started to dance and you watched him, laughing. “C'mon!” he shouted, encouraging you. You sighed, not able to help yourself from bobbing your head to the beat. “That's it, you're getting it,” Dean smiled, starting to play an air guitar. You were full on belly laughing now as Dean grabbed your broom and sang down the handle.

“SHOOK ME ALL NIGHT LONG, YEAH YOU!” He pointed at you, and you laughed harder, before joining and singing along. 

It didn't even get to the second chorus before you stopped feeling stupid and joined in completely, singing and dancing with Dean, laughing until you had tears in your eyes at the way he was acting. Another AC/DC song started to blast out of the speakers when the first one ended, as you both continued to dance and sing along. Dean jumped up onto the bar top, getting down onto his knees as he played his air guitar again. 

“I'm on the highway to hell,” he sang, before sliding off the counter and landing on his feet in front of you, taking your hand and encouraging you to spin around. You shook your hair around and laughed as you both 'rocked out' together. 

Eventually, Dean turned the music down a little, and jokingly told you to get back to work, and you worked the rest of your shift in much higher spirits. Once the cleaning was done, there wasn't much to do except wait around for any early customers, but the whole place was dead, and Dean was in the cellar doing a stock check, so you were alone. You sat and looked through some of the evidence you'd collected on your phone, hoping your better mood would help you see some things in a new light. Maybe you needed to lay a trap, maybe you needed to use what facts you were sure of to your advantage. You knew the killer was looking for a blonde haired, blue eyed girl who cheated on her partner. What if you could be that girl? At least... online. 

You bit your lip as you set about looking for a dating site that was specifically designed for adulterers. The killer was bound to at least look on those sites, even if not all his victims were from there. You stopped for a moment, to really consider if this was a wise move. But you'd be careful, only arranging a meeting if your trap was perfectly in place. You set up a profile, using a photo similar to the victims', and although you used your real name and age, you marked yourself down as married. You could always delete the profile if you decided not to use it, anyway. You didn't see the harm, not as long as you were staying safe. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Tags:** cheating, handjob, blowjob, choking, face slapping (not the kinky kind), hints of rape, murder, manipulation, angry!Sam, controlling!Sam, angst 

**Chapter WC:** 2113

-

**_Sam's POV_ **

Amber might've been Sam's favourite yet, after the ones that were most special to him, of course. Her fiance, Denny was a little controlling, liked her home at certain times, kept her around whenever he wasn't away, checked her phone when she wasn't in the room. Sam couldn't blame him, clearly he knew something was up with her, he just wasn't smart enough to catch her in the act yet. But Sam had seen messages come and go on her phone as he'd been tracking it, and Amber wasn't dumb enough to go on her profile on her phone, only her laptop on the private browser. How secretive she'd been about it made Sam's skin crawl and his jaw clench harder, and he knew he was going to relish in her death. And he did. Watching Amber take her last few breaths was a thrill he'd not felt in a long time. Not even Demi or Katie had scratched that itch quite as well. Sam had barely had to try with Amber. 

She was drunk when she left the bar and stumbled straight into him, apologising as she regained her balance, and Sam offered to walk her home. It wasn't quite routine as normal, but the bar she'd been drinking in was slightly higher class than usual, and Sam couldn't risk security footage, not now Y/N was onto him. Sam looked friendly and welcoming, and he knew he could pull off this puppy dog look that made him seem trustworthy, and Amber lapped that up immediately, accepting his offer. 

When they got to her doorstep, she turned and faced him, blushing up at him as she tucked some of her blonde hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes were twinkling in the low porch lighting and she cleared her throat as Sam waited for her to speak. 

“Thanks for walking me home,” she smiled up at him. 

“No problem. You don't know who's out there these days, could've gotten into danger,” Sam told her softly. She bit her bottom lip and nodded her head. 

“Good job I had a big strong man like you to protect me,” she smirked, smoothing her hand up his arm and squeezing at his bicep. Sam looked at her small hand, dwarfed by his muscle. 

“Of course,” Sam smirked back. 

She bit her lip harder this time and continued to squeeze at his arm. 

“You know, if there's any way I can thank you,” she prompted. 

“Any suggestions?” Sam asked, carefully watching her face. She glanced around the dark street – quiet and empty thanks to the time of night – and trailed her hand down his arm and over his torso towards his belt buckle. 

“Got a few I could show you,” she teased, playing with his waistband. Sam chuckled and nodded his head. 

“Alright, sure,” he agreed. Amber smiled, and turned to open her front door, Sam following on behind her and closing the door shut. They'd barely made it towards the stairs before Amber was turning around pushing Sam up against a wall, kissing him passionately. 

Sam kissed back, and felt as her hands eagerly ran over his body, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans. She pushed her hand inside and Sam groaned, feeling her fingers wrap around his hardening length. 

“Fuck, you're big,” she moaned against his lips, starting to tug. Sam gasped for air as she stopped kissing him. He wasn't used to them being quite this forward. Sam's eyes landed on a photo of her and Denny over her shoulder and she followed his eyeline to see the photo too. She sighed heavily.

“Don't mind do you?” she checked, she pressed herself closer to him, tightening her grip around his cock as she brought her lips back to his, “he's not home.” 

“No, of course not,” Sam lied, keeping his anger in check for a moment. 

She pulled her hand out of his boxers and took his hand, pulling him towards the stairs as they started to climb them. Photos of her and Denny lined the staircase, and each one that Sam passed made him more and more angry. How could she do this to him?! How could she look at these photos and not feel guilty or change her mind? Sam wondered if Jess ever felt guilty, but he almost scoffed out loud, of course she didn't. And if Y/N ever cheated on him, she probably wouldn't either. Fucking sluts are all the same. Amber turned around once they were in her bedroom and smirked up at him, kissing him passionately once more and encouraging him to sit on the end of her bed. Her hands returned to his open jeans and she tugged them down to his thighs. 

Kneeling at his feet, she then got his jeans over his knees and down to his ankles, before reaching for his cock with her hand and pumping it slightly. Sam rarely did foreplay with his victims, but Amber was clearly headstrong, knowing exactly what she wanted, and Sam was getting caught up in it. He watched as she brought her mouth closer to his erection and then started to suck him down, and he gasped for air, his thighs tightening as she took him to the back of her throat almost immediately. He was almost fully hard now, the last little bit stretching her lips as she gagged. Her cell started ringing, and she grumbled as she pulled off of his cock and rummaged in her purse to retrieve it. 

“It's my fiance, don't make a sound,” she told him. 

Sam's eyes only widened as she answered the call, her hand still wrapped around his spit sodden cock. 

“Hey baby, it's late,” she noted. “Yeah I'm fine,” she smirked up at Sam and started to work her hand up and down, Sam trying to silently gasp for air. “No I'm just alone, probably gonna head to bed,” she told him sweetly. She grinned evilly as she slowly brought his tip back to her mouth and started to suck again. Sam's heart was thudding in his chest, but Amber wasn't about to tell Denny anything about him, so he was safe in that respect. He could feel the anger boiling under his skin as he thought about just how fucking disrespectful she was being. Did Jess ever do this? Did she ever lie to Sam down the phone with Taylor right next to her?

“Mhm,” she sounded out around Sam's length. She pulled off to reply, “yeah.” She licked a stripe up from Sam's balls to his tip. “Okay, well I'll talk to you in the morning then.” She bit her bottom lip as she looked up at Sam and twisted her hand, tugging upwards. “Yeah, night baby.” She hung up, dropping her cell to the floor and Sam's thighs clenched in anger this time. “Sorry, he's so fucking controlling, gotta know everything I'm doing. Like he doesn't trust me or something,” she giggled. 

“Can you fucking blame him?” Sam couldn't help spit out. Amber frowned slightly and sat back on her heels. Sam leaned forward and wrapped a hand around her throat. “Nasty little whores like you are all the same,” he snarled. Amber gasped for air as he lifted her to her feet by the grip on her throat. But a smirk came to her face, and she clearly thought he was just playing rough. 

“Hm, maybe you should teach me a lesson,” she purred. Sam grunted, really angry now, and struck her face with his free hand. She gasped and chuckled once the initial shock wore off. 

“I'll fucking teach you alright,” Sam growled, throwing her down onto the bed. He was gonna make her regret everything she'd ever done wrong. 

-

Sam had told Y/N he was visiting Bobby, hoping she'd have no reason to mention it to Dean, and if she did, Dean would have no reason to mention it to Bobby himself, but if he did, Sam would think of something. He checked into a dive motel under a fake name to clean up, and was back on the road early morning, stopping off at his lock up to put Amber away with the others. He listened to the radio for a bit and waited for the inevitable news to break when her body was found. There was no denying Amber was different. She'd been feisty and so blatantly disrespectful towards her partner, and Sam just couldn't handle that. He'd lost control more so than usual, and hopefully that wasn't going to be his undoing this time. But he couldn't deny the kill felt so much better this way. He only wished he'd had more time to enjoy it. Killing and getting back to Y/N with no solid alibis for disappearing overnight wasn't ideal, and he was going to have to think of something better for the future. 

He finally got back, seeing Y/N working overtime like he assumed she would be, adding Amber to her list of victims. Nothing got past Y/N. But the news that she was going to take it to the cops was a shock. Sam had naively believed she'd want to see the case through, solve it herself, not give up and hand it over to the police. He was fairly confident after a word or two with her that he'd got rid of that idea from her head, but just to be sure, as he locked himself in the bathroom he went onto his phone and deleted a few files from her laptop before she could print them and use them in her case. 

Y/N left for work a little defeated the next day, but at least she wasn't asking to go to the police station any more, so Sam chalked that one down as a win. Whilst she was gone, he rummaged through her paperwork, reading everything he could, pleased that nothing really pointed to him. She did have some compelling arguments though when it came to linking the girls, and Sam removed a couple of pages and set fire to them over the sink. He loaded up his laptop as he made himself breakfast, and logged into the bar's security cameras to see Y/N sweeping the floor and telling Dean that her investigation wasn't going well. Sam bumped the volume up a few notches as he turned his back on the screen and started to make eggs. He laughed softly when he heard AC/DC start to blast through the speakers and glanced over his shoulder to see Dean trying to dance, singing along. 

His smile faded when he saw the way Y/N laughed at him, and eventually joined in, the two of them singing and dancing together, Dean even started spinning her around. Who the fuck did she think she was, being like that with his brother of all people?! She was laughing and joking with Dean in a way that she'd never been with Sam, and the jealousy and anger sat heavy in his stomach, ruining his appetite for breakfast. Sam scowled right up until Dean turned the music down and they returned to working. Dean headed down into the cellar, and Sam watched Y/N carefully as she sat at the bar and started to play on her phone. He loaded his own phone, getting up the programme that showed him what she was doing. He could see her biting her lip as she typed away and waited for a text or email to appear on her screen to tell him what she was up to. Maybe she was texting Dean, or even some other guy – whoever she sent that nude to. 

Her phone pinged, and Sam eagerly checked to see she'd received an email. Clicking on it, he saw it was a sign up confirmation.  _ Heatedaffairs _ . Sam knew the name well, he often browsed that site for potential victims. It was how he'd found Amber. Why the fuck was Y/N signing up for a site like that? He felt his blood boil in his veins as he grit his teeth. He started to pace the living room, trying to control his anger. He wasn't going to be that fool again, he wasn't going to let another bitch win one over on him. He stopped, chest heaving as he stared at the murder wall, four smiling faces looking back at him. Amber was now alongside Demi, and Sam swallowed thickly. Y/N didn't fit there perfectly, but she was close enough. She was going to be his next victim. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Tags:** angst, paranoia, suspicion, lies, betrayal, tension

**Chapter WC:** 2785

-

**_Your POV_ **

Amber's death was a little over a week ago now, and you were still not really much closer to solving the case or even having a suspect. The dating profile you'd set up wasn't being much help. You'd had plenty of messages from guys, and whilst you felt fairly confident ruling out the older men - given your theory that the killer was more the victims' ages and probably good looking enough to attract such beautiful girls - you soon realised you still had no idea how to figure out which guy was the killer, and you weren't about to actually meet up with any of them. You barely wanted to talk to them. Until now, you'd replied pleasantly to any messages, but kept it civil. You didn't actually  _ want  _ to talk to these guys, especially when you knew for a fact they'd have partners, and you had Sam, of course. But if you thought one might be a suspect, you were willing to try a little harder. 

Until now, the killer had been smart, calculated and precise. He'd managed to keep himself off the radar, enough that the cops hadn't even made a single connection to any of his murders. If all his victims had a profile like this one, and he was using it as his hunting ground, you'd have known about it by now. He wouldn't be dumb enough to leave a trace behind either, no electronic conversations. But at least the profile might get you onto his radar. And then the very realisation that you could be getting hunted by him right this second made fear paralyse you. Maybe you were in too deep, maybe this was a bad idea. What if you'd already bumped into him? What if he was the guy standing behind you in the coffee shop? What if you've served him in the bar? What if you've flirted with him for a tip which had led him on?

You suddenly regretted using your real name. You’d just not thought twice about using a fake one, even though the profile photo was fake. Would the killer leave you alone if he did track you down, only to find that you weren’t who was in your profile photo? But what if he couldn’t leave a hunt once he’d started? What if, now you were on his radar, he couldn’t stop? After how bloody and beaten he’d left Amber, he did seem to be spiralling, and sometimes killers lost sight of their MO when that happens. What if he  _ knew  _ you were on to him? That you were preparing for a trap and he was one step ahead of you?

You wanted to delete the profile, but you told yourself you were just being paranoid. Besides, the damage was well and truly done now. If he was going to see your profile, he’d have seen it already, you were sure of it. You might as well see it through if you can. But you couldn’t help feel weary of every single guy that even glanced in your direction, asking yourself if it could be him. You were desperate to get your information together, desperate to get enough gathered that you could take to the cops, without being ridiculed for doing an amateur job. But things kept going missing. First of all the files on your laptop, and then actual pieces of paper, photos and hand written notes were just  _ gone.  _ Maybe you were getting too caught up in this case, maybe you were losing your mind. 

The only other explanation was that Sam was tampering with the evidence, as he was the only other person that had access to it - but why would he do that? It wouldn’t make sense. Sam had been off with you for a few days now, not talking to you as much, and he didn’t seem interested in having sex at all. Maybe he was tired, he’d not really been the same since he came back from visiting Bobby. Maybe something had happened there? You could ask Sam directly, but the way he’d been recently he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it, so you made a mental note to bring it up with Dean at work that day. Sam was out, on a run or something, you couldn’t be too sure, but he wasn’t meant to be working at all that day, yet he wasn’t home like he usually would be.

You headed down to retrieve your mail at the bottom of the apartment complex, and sorted through it on your way back up to the apartment. It was mainly bills and marketing, and you tore through the envelopes one at a time, almost on autopilot, scanning the letters before stuffing them back in their appropriate envelopes. The next letter was thicker, and you tore into it immediately, seeing it was an invoice made out to a _ Sam Wesson _ . Maybe someone had gotten Sam’s last name wrong. You looked at the front of the envelope with a frown, seeing your address on there. The company name was printed in the corner,  _ Store-Some  _ The company tagline printed in italics underneath  _ for all your personal storage needs!  _ The invoice was for a month’s rent of a storage unit. It had to be a mistake - right?

Even if they got the name wrong, as far as you were aware, Sam didn’t have a storage unit - he didn’t need storage. His apartment wasn’t huge, but he didn’t have many things, unless that was  _ why,  _ maybe most of his possessions were in that lock up. But why had he never told you about it? So maybe they had just got the wrong address, Sam is a popular name. But what were the chances of that being a coincidence? That the letter would come here when there’s a Sam that lives here. You read the letter again, seeing that it gave the unit number. It was fairly local, less than twenty minutes drive away. Maybe you could just go and check it out after your shift later. Something wasn’t sitting right with you about Sam at the moment, and your naturally curious nature, the researcher in you, wanted to know what was in that lockup. 

You stuffed the letter into your purse, so you’d have the correct details to get there after work, and was getting ready to leave when Sam finally got back. 

“Hey,” you smiled as he walked in, placing his car keys down on the counter. He didn’t really reply, just offered you a forced smile, before opening the fridge and sticking his head in. “Where have you been?” you asked casually as your eyes landed on his keys, noticing a smaller key you’ve not seen on there before, like a padlock key. Could that be for the lock up? Sam’s keys had always been minimal, so the new addition stuck out like a sore thumb. You eyed it for a moment longer, before Sam turned around and you looked away.

“Gym. Going to work?” he asked. His lie was transparent, given that he wasn’t in workout clothes, but you chose to brush over it, growing more and more suspicious by the second. There were so many lies coming to the surface. But  _ why was he lying? _

You nodded, “yeah about to head out.” 

“Okay, have a good day,” he smiled, rounding the counter to kiss your forehead before heading towards the bedroom. 

  
  


You drew a deep breath and considered for a second taking the small key with you, but what if Sam noticed it was missing? You didn’t want him to think you were sneaking around behind his back, especially if he was in the clear and you were just being paranoid - which was likely to be the case. But how else would you get inside? No doubt those things were secure and they wouldn’t exactly have windows to peak into. You glanced back over your shoulder and heard the shower running from the bathroom. Carefully, you slid the keys towards you and worked on taking the smallest key off the chain. You pushed it into your back pocket and placed the keys back where Sam had left them, before heading towards the door, your heart thudding in your chest with a mixture of adrenaline and nerves. 

By the time you’d gotten to work you’d calmed down a little bit, and seeing Dean in his usual upbeat mood helped you relax a little more. Work was fairly quiet, and between serving the odd customer, you and Dean chatted about random things. You remembered wanting to ask him about Sam’s visit to Bobby's, and tried to find a way to word the question without seeming like you were accusing Sam of lying. 

“So Sam tells me Bobby has a bar too?” you asked casually, drying a glass.

“Yeah, Singers,” Dean nodded. “We have a few friends over the country with bars, there’s Harvelle’s too, in Nebraska,” he explained.

“Oh cool,” you smiled. “So Sam said you’re close to Bobby,” you went on, trying to keep the conversation on track. 

“Yeah, yeah we are,” Dean smiled, nodding. 

“That’s nice, surprised you didn’t go with Sam to see him last week,” you noted, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Last week? Sam never told me he was going up that way, or I would’ve.” 

“Oh, really?” you pressed, frowning slightly. Why wouldn’t Sam invite Dean? Maybe there was something there and that was the reason he was visiting Bobby, something that he didn’t want Dean to know about. 

“When did he go?” Dean asked next. 

“Last week, it was actually the night that urm -” The glass slipped through your hand before you could finish the sentence and shattered at your feet.  _ The night that Amber died.  _ But that was just some horrible coincidence right? Another one, but a coincidence nonetheless. “Shit, sorry,” you apologised. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, don’t worry about it, got a million of them in the cellar,” Dean reassured you, bending down to help you clean up. “So when did Sam go to Bobby’s?” he pressed again. 

“Last urm Thursday, when he wasn’t on shift. Thought he’d have told you,” you commented.

“Me too. Bobby didn’t even mention it.” Dean frowned for a moment but then shrugged and said, “ah well, I’ll see him next time.” 

Your mind was spinning as you stood back up, and Dean gripped your arm, looking concerned. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, “you look off, get up too quick?”   
“Yeah, maybe,” you lied, nodding your head. Just the very idea that Sam could have  _ anything  _ to do with those murders made you want to throw up. But it would make sense - things going missing, the lockup, going to Bobby’s without Dean. Was he even at Bobby’s at all? Dean guided you towards the office, sitting you down in a chair there. 

“Let me get you a whisky,” he offered.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you told him quickly. The last thing you needed was something screwing with your brain. It was already screwed enough as it was.

“Okay, water then. Just sit there for five, it’s quiet enough without you,” Dean reassured you. 

“Dean,” you asked before he could leave. He stopped and turned to face you. “Urm, do you know who Sam Wesson is?” 

Dean frowned and then laughed, shaking his head. 

“Sam used to call himself that when we were kids, if we were playing cops and robbers or something, said we wouldn’t have the same last name.” He smiled fondly and then asked, “why?” 

You shook your head, “just saw it written down somewhere,” you shrugged. You offered him a forced smile and he tapped the doorframe with his open hand.

“I’ll get you that water,” he smiled. Being left alone with your thoughts, even for a couple of minutes, was dangerous. All the arrows were suddenly pointing to Sam. It  _ was  _ his lockup, and it was now more than likely that it was the key for it in your backpocket. And all you could think about was ending your shift so you could find out what was inside. 

-

Your shift went slowly once you were eager for it to end, but when it finally did, you called a cab to take you to the storage units. The journey seemed gruelling, and after driving around the place for a few moments, you arrived at the correct building. You asked him to keep the meter running and stepped inside, finding the correct unit number, and taking a deep breath as you stood in front of the metal door. You reached into your backpocket for the key and dug it out, hand shaking as you held it tightly. You felt sick, your heart thudding hard in your chest as you considered maybe you didn’t want to know what was in there. Because what if Sam  _ was  _ the killer? What if you’d found his dirty little secret? Or what if he wasn’t the killer you were looking for, but he was hiding another big secret? Were you ready for that? You had to be. 

You drew another deep breath and bent down, pushing the key into the padlock and undoing it with trembling hands. You tugged on the shutter and pushed it up to get inside. You reached in the dark for a light switch and found one. The cheap yellow light blinked on and revealed… nothing. The unit was empty, bare breezeblocks for walls and rough concrete for a floor and it was  _ empty,  _ except for a single wooden box, sat in the centre of the room. It was small, about the size of a jewellery box. You stepped over to it and bent down to pick it up, seeing there was another padlock on the front. But the key for this lock was smaller again. You tugged on it anyway, in a futile attempt to get inside. What could be in there? Besides the wood the box was made of, it didn’t feel too heavy, so whatever was in there wasn’t big or bulky. 

The box was plain wood, no carving or detail, just the golden clasp that was locked closed. You could put it back, walk away and pretend you never came here. Sam wouldn’t know - but then you’d never rest. You needed to know what was inside, and you needed answers for all of Sam’s lies. You clutched the box and left the unit, pulling the shutter down and locking it back up the way you’d found it. When you stepped out of the building the sun was surprisingly bright, and you had to squint your eyes on the walk back to the cab. 

You climbed back in and sat the box on your lap, giving the driver your home address. You stared at the box the whole way home. It felt like it was getting heavier, cutting into your thighs as the journey went on, and once again it felt like you’d been driving for hours. The anxiety of asking Sam and getting answers was sitting thick in your stomach, and you felt like you might throw up. You paid the driver and carefully carried the box inside your apartment building and up to your apartment. Part of you was hoping Sam wouldn’t be home when you stepped inside. You needed some more time with your thoughts, and you knew you’d be met with hostility, walking in with his dirty little secret underarm. No matter what was inside, at the very least, he was going to know you’d gone behind his back and broken into his storage unit, rather than just asking him why he had one in the first place. But something told you it wasn’t a good idea to give him the opportunity to lie. You were backing him into a corner this way - and that felt like the right thing to do. 

But Sam was home. He was sitting at the dining table on his laptop when you walked in, and his eyes instantly landed on what you were holding and they widened. 

“What’s that?” Sam asked cautiously. You didn’t reply as you stepped closer, feeling your legs trembling as they carried you over to the dining table. But you’d come too far to back down now. “Where did you get it?”

“Where do you think?” you finally replied, your voice a little shaky, but steadier than you thought it might be, which you were grateful for. Sam closed his laptop and pushed it to one side as you stood the other side of the table, directly in front of him. You set the box down between you, keeping his eye contact as you turned it so the padlock was facing him. 

“Open it, Sam,” you demanded. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Tags:** angst, jealousy, rage, manipulation, gaslighting

**Chapter WC:** 1805

-

  
  


**_Sam’s POV_ **

Sam closed his laptop and pushed it to one side once Y/N had reached the other side of the table. He tried to remain calm, unfazed, as she placed the box down on the table in front of him. She held eye contact as she put the box down between them and turned it, so that the padlock was facing him. 

“Open it, Sam.” She seemed adamant, no room for arguments. 

“Why? What’s inside?” Sam asked, feigning ignorance. Her eyes narrowed slightly, so he changed his question. “What do  _ you think  _ is inside?” he asked next. Y/N didn’t answer, tears glazing over her eyes. 

“Please,” she begged softly, “just open it, Sam.” Sam sighed, deciding to comply as he dug into his pocket for the key. 

He sighed heavily, looking up at her, “I’m sorry, I never wanted you to find this.”

“Just open it,” she grunted through gritted teeth. Sam nodded gently and pushed the key into the padlock, twisting it slowly and watching as it released. Her eyes were wide and fearful as he pulled the lock out of the clasp and set it down on the table. He turned the box around so that she’d be able to see inside when he opened it, and she played nervously with her fingers in front of her as she waited for him to reveal his secrets. He opened the box quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, and Y/N frowned, looking at the contents before looking back up at him. She reached down and took the photos out, shuffling through them one at a time as tears started to escape her eyes. 

  
  


**_Earlier That Day_ **

Ever since Y/N became his next victim, Sam couldn’t look at her the same. He no longer saw her the way he used to. He no longer felt some kind of weird twisted love for her, instead he couldn’t help but look at her with contempt and disgust. How could she be so stupid to go behind his back and try and cheat on him like that? It didn’t make sense. Sam had always been so sure she could never do that, not after the guilt she felt when they’d cheated on Jess, so what had changed? Why now? Why wasn’t he  _ enough  _ for her? He’d become obsessed with checking her phone, logging into her dating profile and reading all the messages from men. For the most part the conversations were civil, and she didn’t seem to reply to the more sexual ones, but none of that even mattered because she shouldn’t have had the profile in the first place. And Sam wasn’t going to be made a fool of - not again. He wasn’t letting another dumb bitch make him look like the stupid ignorant one. He was one step ahead of her and always would be. 

He spent his morning anywhere but home, needing to be away from her, so he took his laptop to a local cafe and hacked through her laptop to see if she had found any new evidence. She hadn’t, luckily. He was still safe for now. Once he knew it was close to her shift, he decided to head back, not even bothering to lie too hard when she asked where he’d been. He didn’t care anymore, she’d be dead soon anyway, and then she wouldn’t be a problem at all. It hadn’t quite been as long as usual since his last kill, but Sam could already feel the urges returning, and he was sure it was because he was spending so much time around Y/N. But he wasn’t ready. He needed a better plan than usual. He couldn’t just kill her in her bed and leave, because that was  _ his  _ bed too, and it was going to inject him into the investigation. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. He needed to be smart, it needed to be different this time. They always suspect the partner first and foremost, and Sam wouldn’t have an alibi like all the other men. Yet - anyway. 

He was pleased to see Y/N had left for work by the time he was out of the shower, and as he headed over to the kitchen, he grabbed his laptop to load the bar’s security cameras. He set about making himself some coffee as the feed came to life, and as the bar had customers, he was struggling to hear what Dean and Y/N were talking about. He squinted at the screen, watching as they stood close together and chatted. And then Sam’s fairly sure he heard Y/N’s voice say  _ Bobby  _ and he grit his teeth. The little bitch was checking up on him, mentioning his trip to Bobby’s to Dean no doubt. Sam rolled his eyes. He wasn’t too worried, he was sure he could find  _ some  _ reasonable excuse to feed Dean at least and get him off of his back. 

Y/N dropped a glass and Dean bent down with her to pick it up, and Sam became frustrated that he couldn’t see or hear them at all, anxious about what they might be doing down there. What if she’d done that on purpose, so she could talk to Dean privately? And what was she saying? But that would mean she had to know about the cameras. Maybe she did, maybe the little slut was trying to be clever. They both stood back up, and Dean gripped her arm, wrapping his own around her and leading her towards the office, and Sam’s grip on the kitchen counter became so hard his fingers were buzzing. But it did mean they were in the quiet of the office, where Sam could see and  _ hear  _ clearer. His eyes flickered to that camera feed instead now as Dean sat Y/N into a chair. 

“Let me get you a whisky,” Dean spoke up.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Y/N replied quickly. 

“Okay, water then. Just sit there for five, it’s quiet enough without you.” 

“Dean,” Y/N spoke up again, stopping Dean from leaving. “Urm, do you know who Sam Wesson is?” 

“Fuck,” Sam grumbled out loud. He should’ve known he was being too cocky using that name for the lock up. How the fuck had she found that out? His eyes glanced to the pile of opened mail on the counter as Dean replied. 

“Sam used to call himself that when we were kids, if we were playing cops and robbers or something, said we wouldn’t have the same last name.”  _ Shut up Dean, stop telling her.  _ Sam dashed to the mail as he sorted through it but couldn’t find anything from the lock up. He’d fucking  _ told them  _ to bill him through the email. “Why?” Dean asked.

“Just saw it written down somewhere,”

“FUCK!” Sam shouted. Sam glanced over at his keys. He needed to get to the lock up before she did. He needed to make sure that she didn’t get to it first. But then he noticed that something seemed different, and then he noticed what. His lock up key was missing. Little fucking  _ bitch.  _

  
  


**_Back to Present_ **

It had occurred to Sam as he was sat at the dining table waiting for Y/N to inevitably get home with a million and one questions, that maybe he didn’t need to kill her - not right away at least. Maybe he could convince her it was all in her head, that she was crazy. Maybe if she just dropped this whole thing, and she had Sam to rely on - to look after her - she’d realise she didn’t need anyone else, that he was the only one. And then she’d be his and no one else’s. He could control her, make sure she never told anyone his secret whilst also keeping his hands clean. At least until he figured out a way to get away with it. Once he had her believing one lie he could feed her others, and he could go back to hunting like nothing had even happened. As long as he was smart about it - extra smart. 

  
  


“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam swallowed, her eyes taking in every photograph. “I didn’t want to upset you.” Y/N was crying now, sniffling slightly. 

“I don’t understand,” she choked out. Sam sighed heavily and reached forward, taking the photos from her, and she easily let them go. He started to look through them himself. 

“Jess was my first love,” he began to explain, starting to look through the photos of him with her. “I wanted to marry her and have kids with her. And I know she cheated on me, but part of me still loves her, and I always will.” He looked up at Y/N and put the photos down on the table. She frowned slightly, and she decided to take a seat, hugging herself from the chill in the air. “When you moved in, I moved Jess out and into that storage unit. She’s the only reason I have that unit. I just didn’t want you to find the photos and be upset or jealous, or think that I love you any less. Because I love you so much, Y/N,” Sam told her. 

He got up, pushing the key back into his pocket, as his fingers brushed against the spare lock up key he’d managed to find in his drawer, and rounded the table, kneeling in front of her chair as she looked down at him. 

“I don’t understand, I thought…” she trailed off, and her eyes glanced up at her murder wall. Sam looked back over his shoulder at the wall.

“You thought I was the killer?” he frowned. Her eyes widened when she looked back at him. 

“Some of my research has been going missing and -” She shook her head.

“Baby, I think this is getting too much for you. The blog, the research, you’re getting obsessed. You need to take a step back from it all, you need a break,” he told her. She looked him in the eyes as she continued to silently cry. “Stop looking into this case, there’s nothing there, okay? No connection, no serial killer, you’re just so desperate to have a case that you’ve made one from nothing.”

Y/N didn’t reply, so Sam continued. 

“Just focus on the bar and me, okay? At least for a little while. Don’t want you to get sick. You’re already going a little crazy.” Y/N’s frown deepened, but she finally swallowed and nodded her head, licking her lips. 

“You’re right, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s gone too far - I’ll delete the blog,” she agreed, much to Sam’s relief.

“Good girl,” he praised. 

“I don’t want to be crazy, Sam,” she sniffled. 

“I’ve got you, baby girl, you’re safe with me.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Tags:** manipulation, angst, gas lighting, paranoia, anxiety, talk of murder, talk of arousal by murder, nausea

**Chapter WC:** 1670

-

  
  


**_Your POV_ **

“I don’t understand, I thought…” You trailed off, and you glanced up at your murder wall. You were so  _ sure,  _ so convinced that he was the killer, that whatever was in that box would incriminate him for at least  _ something.  _ Something more than not being able to let his ex-girlfriend go. Sam looked back over his shoulder at the wall too and he frowned.

“You thought I was the killer?” He sounded so hurt that you could even think that and your eyes widened as you looked back at him. 

“Some of my research has been going missing and -” Suddenly, you weren’t so sure, realising how paranoid you must sound. But Sam  _ has been  _ acting strange, and more so than just because of Jess. 

And you could assume that your case had been too close to home for him, dredging up old feelings and opening old wounds, but Sam had insisted it was fine and had even encouraged you to research it, wanting to be involved. And why would he want to have a part in this if it was upsetting him? What if he’d been so eager because he was making sure you didn’t get too close? Deleting any evidence that might actually incriminate him somehow. What if he was just trying to make you think you’re going crazy so you’d stop? So you’d believe all his lies?

“Baby, I think this is getting too much for you. The blog, the research, you’re getting obsessed. You need to take a step back from it all, you need a break,” he told you. You cried silently, your mind still working overtime. He was squirming, not physically, but you could tell there was a sense of panic on his face, and why would he be panicking if he wasn’t guilty of something he didn’t want you to find out about? “Stop looking into this case, there’s nothing there, okay? No connection, no serial killer, you’re just so desperate to have a case that you’ve made one from nothing.” 

Once again he was belittling your research, telling you there was nothing there, when you’d never been more certain of anything in your life. There was nothing that could change your mind about this, that you were sure of. “Just focus on the bar and me, okay? At least for a little while. Don’t want you to get sick. You’re already going a little crazy.” That was the moment that you realised he was trying to manipulate you. He was seeming more guilty than ever, but if he really  _ was  _ the killer and he thought you were onto him, then he might hurt you. He might take you out of the equation. And why wouldn’t he? Killing you would mean nothing to him, he could do it so easily if he wanted to. You had to be smart - you had to play along. 

“You’re right, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s gone too far - I’ll delete the blog,” you agreed. 

“Good girl,” he praised, relief washing over his face. You felt the anxiety take over your entire body, his reaction only solidifying your concerns. You felt the tears stream down your face even though it didn’t even feel like you were crying, and you tried your best to play along with your new role. 

“I don’t want to be crazy, Sam,” you sniffled. Sam frowned, offering you a sad smile and then pulled you into him. 

“I’ve got you, baby girl, you’re safe with me.” He held you tight against his chest and you felt like you were suffocating. Not because of his hold, but because of what all this was meaning. Because maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ your boyfriend - the man you’d fallen head over heels in love with - was a serial killer, going around the country raping and killing girls. 

What did that say about you? That all this time you’d never noticed, never realised. Sam was clever, but you were a researcher, you’d attended the criminology classes, you should’ve seen the warning signs the moment you met him. Maybe he hadn’t always been that way, maybe Jess’s death was the trigger for him, it would suddenly make sense why the victims were blonde and blue eyed - why they were strangled to death in their own beds. Sam was constantly recreating Jess’s death. Was it for revenge? But why would he kill the girls that were just like Jess to avenge her? Jealousy that they got to live and his girlfriend didn’t? Or maybe his hate for Jess had become too strong, too gripping, and he was taking it out on these girls, instead. 

Sam’s large hand was stroking your back lovingly, but it felt so fake, so paralysing, and you wanted an excuse to step out of his embrace and leave him, to leave the apartment and stay anywhere but with him. How could you sleep next to him now? But if you mentioned anything about leaving, even to visit your parents, Sam would know something was up and your mask would slip. He couldn’t find out. For as long as you kept him close, maybe you could find the evidence against him you needed to take this to the cops, like you should’ve done ages ago. Sam couldn’t talk you out of it this time. 

You finally pulled back, and used drying your face and finding your laptop as the excuse to turn away from him. You opened it and loaded your blog, trying to take deep breaths. You didn’t want to permanently delete everything, not when you had worked so hard to build what you had, and you’d gained such a large and supportive following, but if it kept Sam off of your back, if it kept you  _ alive,  _ then you figured you had no choice. Luckily, Sam moved and went to sit over on the couch as you worked on deleting your blog, and when you came to click the delete button you were given the option of temporarily disabling it instead. You selected that option, hoping that Sam wouldn’t figure out it wasn’t gone forever, but if he did, you could always remind him that he recommended you  _ took a break.  _

“The blog is gone,” you whispered, closing your laptop. You considered as you sat there and looked at Sam how he’d have been able to delete things from your laptop. The first time it had happened you were sitting right next to it, and Sam wasn’t even in the room anymore. Had he hacked you? You couldn’t put it past him, and decided that you had to be more careful from now on, maybe set up new emails and buy yourself a burner phone if you wanted to keep researching. Just the idea of keeping so many secrets whilst acting like everything’s fine with Sam was making you feel sick and dizzy. Were you even cut out for this? 

You stood up on shaking legs and pulled the sleeves of your sweater down to clutch the cuffs in your palms as you headed over to the wall. You knew that looking at all this with the idea that Sam was the killer would either confirm or deny your hunch entirely, but Sam wouldn’t let you keep this up would he? But then you remembered how encouraging he’d been for you to make it in the first place. Did he have some sick fascination with seeing all these photos? The more you thought about it, the more everything was slotting into place. The amount of times he’d fucked you against this wall, where he’d have a full view of the evidence in front of him. The time he fucked you when your crime photos made a reappearance, when you first started your blog. That time he didn’t finish in the cellar. Was that because he didn’t have the photos to help him? 

And how could you forget your first time? The time he cheated with Jess. It was the first time he’d been in your dorm, the first time he’d seen your murder wall. Was that the only reason he’d fucked you that day? Not because of some undeniable chemistry between you, but because he was aroused looking at crime scene photos of blood and death? You could feel the bile pressing at the base of your throat at the very thought, and you wanted to cry again, but you were trying so damn hard to pretend you were fine. 

“Should I take it down?” you asked quietly. You weren’t sure what you wanted his answer to be. You wanted it to stay up so you could secretly work on it when he wasn’t home, but the thought of it turning him on, making him happy, made disgust crawl over your skin. 

“Maybe cover it over for now, don’t wanna undo all your hard work so quickly,” Sam suggested. It was a compromise you were happy with. At least Sam wouldn’t get to see it all the time, and you could at least pretend he wasn’t looking at it when he didn’t think you were looking, or whilst you were out. 

He disappeared into the bedroom and came back out with a bedsheet, helping you to pin it in place and hide it all. He sighed and turned to face you, giving you a sad, sympathetic smile that made you want to recoil, but you forced a similar smile to your own lips.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to lose the plot,” you blushed, hoping he’d believe your words. He stepped forward and pulled you into him, kissing your forehead. 

“That’s why you’ve got me,” he told you softly. “I’ll never let you get like that again.” 


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Tags:** manipulation, compulsive lying, controlling, talk of drugging, talk of murder

**Chapter WC:** 1859

\- - -

**_Sam’s POV_ **

Sam became fairly certain over the course of the next few days that he’d managed to throw Y/N off not only his trail, but the case entirely. Each time he went to check on her blog he was given an error message, telling him the page was no longer available. And not once had he caught her looking under the sheet at the murder wall. As much as he hated that his victims were now covered up, not available for him to steal the odd glance at whenever he wanted, at least it was safer this way. Instead, he would sneak out of bed whenever Y/N was asleep, and stand with his hand pressed flat to the wall, getting off in front of it as silently as possible. Or if she was out or in work, he’d take the sheet off and let himself admire the art. 

Y/N had become a little reserved, a little distant, but Sam wasn’t too worried. She was no doubt feeling a little lost now she didn’t have her favourite hobby to keep her occupied, and she was probably feeling guilty for accusing Sam of murder. She was being extra sweet with him, working extra hard to make him happy, like she was trying to make up for it. Not that Sam was complaining about that. He was pretty sure he could tell her to jump right now and she’d ask him how high. She was putty in his hands, desperate to please him, and she was so easily persuaded, it really couldn’t have worked out better.

But there was still something niggling at Sam’s gut. The affair profile and the way she was with Dean. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up, without it seeming like he’d been through her phone. But then the profile vanished, meaning she’d deleted it, and Sam knew he had to say something, so he did what he does best and lied through his teeth. 

“So I used your phone the other day to find mine whilst you were in the shower and urm… I happened to see your emails,” he stated casually. Luckily, she was so desperate to make him happy, she was lapping up every word. “Is there something you need to tell me?” he pressed, pursing his lips slightly. Y/N’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. She looked lost for a moment, but then it was like something had clicked in her mind, and she swallowed hard before replying.

“Okay, I have a confession,” she admitted quietly. “I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get mad or worried,” she went on. 

Sam frowned slightly, starting to wonder if they were talking about the same thing. If she was trying to cheat on him, she’d surely be crying and begging for forgiveness by now. But Sam knew everything in her emails, so what else could she be referring to, besides her research?

“You’re talking about the dating profile, right?” she asked, like she could read Sam’s mind. “And I know how it looks, but it’s not like that, I promise you,” she added quickly. Sam’s jaw clenched, and he stared at her and waited for whatever explanation she could find. The next question would inevitably be - did he believe her? “I had a… a theory about the killer, and I decided to try and bait him, set a trap.” She looked down to her hands guilty, “but I realised once I made it that it was a stupid idea. It was dangerous, and I started feeling paranoid, and maybe that’s why I - I took it too far, I know I did. I’ve deleted it now I promise you, but I can’t help but worry that the real killer is after me.” 

Sam huffed a breath, the fear in her eyes seemed real, and he begrudgingly believed her. It made sense why her profile picture was fake, and why she didn’t really talk to any of the guys on there. Sam rose to his feet and made his way over to her, pulling her into his arms. 

“I promise you that no one will hurt you. You’re not next,” he reassured her. 

“How can you be so sure, Sam? What if I’ve put a target on my back?” He held her tighter and soothed her, feeling her body tense a little more in his grasp, but he was too busy pretending to care to consider why. 

“I’ve already told you to drop this silly idea that it’s a serial killer, Y/N,” he told her sternly. “And anyway, even if it was a serial killer, you don’t even fit what you think is the MO. For starters you would never cheat on me,” he reassured her. “Right?” he asked through gritted teeth, when she didn’t confirm it immediately. 

“No, never, Sam. You’re right, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it. You’re right, it’s not a serial killer,” she nodded. 

Sam was relieved that Y/N was finally no longer an issue - a hindrance - and now that he was moving on from the idea of Y/N being his next victim, he knew he needed to hunt again soon, before he lost control with his urges. Killing Y/N had never been an ideal plan. There was no way he could keep up his routine and stay out of the murder investigation if she was the victim. Plus, she wasn’t like all his other girls. It never would’ve scratched that itch. He’d have only killed her because he  _ had to,  _ and that was never any fun. He felt better about leaving Y/N when heading into work that afternoon, and was eager to cover his tracks with Dean after Y/N had potentially dropped him in it with his visit to see Bobby. 

“Hey dude, you okay? You look stressed,” Dean noted when Sam entered the bar. Sam played on it, letting out a slow, long breath as he approached the bar and leaned on it, shaking his head a little. 

“It’s Y/N,” Sam admitted.

“What’s up with her? Have you got her pregnant?” Dean accused him immediately. 

“No,” Sam frowned deeply. “No, she’s just… can this stay between us?” Sam checked. Dean put down the glass he’d been drying, and threw the towel over his shoulder as he frowned at Sam. 

“Of course, Sammy, whatever you need,” Dean agreed, “everything okay between the two of you? Do we need whiskey for this?”

“No, I’m fine. I didn’t want to say anything, but I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this stuff, and I’m worried about Y/N a lot.” 

Dean remained quiet and waited for Sam to speak.

“So you know Y/N is obsessed with the idea that those murders are a serial killer?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded his head. “Yeah we’ve talked about it a couple of times.”   
“You have? What has she said?” Sam pressed urgently. 

Dean scoffed, “dude, I don’t listen, you know I hate that crap.” 

“Right,” Sam nodded, pleased that she’d not said too much that might make Dean second guess some stuff. “Well anyway, she’s been taking it too far, I think it’s affecting her mentally. She’s been trying to lure the guy in and I mean… fuck, she even accused  _ me  _ the other night,” Sam pointed to himself, feigning disbelief. 

“You? Really?” Dean pressed, just as shocked. “Why? Why would she think it was you?” 

Sam huffed, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but then he realised that this was the perfect opportunity. 

“She found out I lied to her about something. Told her I was visiting Bobby,” he confessed. 

“Didn’t think you had, not like you to not invite me, and he didn't say anything last time we talked,” Dean explained. “So what were you doing?” Dean frowned, “Sammy, are you…” he sighed heavily, almost like he didn’t want to accuse Sam of what he was about to, and Sam waited on baited breath for whatever it was Dean could think he’d done. As long as it wasn’t murder Amber, Sam didn’t care anyway. “Are you cheating on her?” 

“What?! No,” Sam was wrong, he  _ did  _ care. How could Dean ever think he’d do something like that? “No, Dean, I just needed some space for a night, I visited an old school friend. I just lied because I didn’t want her to know why I went.” 

“Okay,” Dean nodded, seemingly buying it. “So because you lied about one night she thinks you’re a murderer?” 

“Look, she’s under a lot of stress, her mind is all over the place right now. I don’t want to leave her, I just want to help her,” Sam went on. “I’ve told her to stop her investigation, and I’d appreciate it if you could discourage her too, and let me know if she says anything to you.” 

“Yeah man, of course. You’re a good guy Sammy, sticking by her after that. Honestly, I’d have left the cuckoo train a long time ago.” Sam laughed sadly and nodded. 

“I love her, she just needs help right now.”

“You know, if she needs time off, if you  _ both  _ need time off, me and Cas can cover it, I could see if Benny is around to help out for a few weeks.” 

“Thanks Dean, I’ll think about it,” Sam agreed with a soft smile. 

Time off work for both of them would be perfect. Y/N wouldn’t have to know that Sam  _ isn’t  _ working, and if she’s home more he can keep a closer eye. He could just lie about popping to the bar anytime he wanted to hunt. Dean would no longer believe any of Y/N’s paranoia, even if she tried to reach out to him. It was almost perfect. He just needed an alibi for the night of the murder - whenever that was going to be. Usually he’d do it whilst Y/N was on a night shift, but if she was off work, he wouldn’t have that luxury anymore. He couldn’t do it too close to home either, or it might spark her need to investigate again. Y/N was the problem, what if he could get rid of  _ her  _ for a while? Before Jess, Sam had a roommate who loved pills a little too much. He took something to help him sleep, but if he took too many it made him groggy and out of it for days - he’d barely get out of bed. What if Sam could drug Y/N whilst he was gone? Convince her the pills were to help with her anxiety, then when she takes too many, he could tell her she was just out of it and he was home, she must’ve just not realised it. 

Sam was pretty pleased with his idea as he used Y/N as his excuse to Dean to leave work early. But instead of heading home, he made his way to his lock up. He needed to hunt if he had any hope of finding his next victim in time, before the urges became too much. Plus he needed to find the perfect drug to deal with his little girlfriend problem. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Tags:** paranoia, talk of controlling/manipulation, lying, angst, hints of arousal from murder, smut, p in v,  **dub con**

**Chapter WC:** 1871

\- - -

  
  


**_Your POV_ **

You’d been afraid to use your cell ever since Sam had called you out on your dating profile. You knew that there were no emails regarding that site over the last few days on there, so you could only assume that he’d been snooping before that, no doubt trying to figure out what evidence you had found. It would make sense to you that maybe he had hacked your stuff somehow. He was a smart guy, and it would definitely explain how he had deleted files without you knowing it. You’d played along with his lie, desperate for him to believe your new rouse, desperate not to get caught out - but your panic about being next was very much real. What if he’d decided you were too close for comfort and made sure to silence you for good? It was the main thing keeping your facade up, the more believable you could be, the less likely you had a target on your back. You knew you didn’t fit the profile, but maybe that wouldn’t matter to Sam, not if he thought you were going to be something in his way. 

It kept you awake at night. You’d lie there with your eyes closed and pretend to be asleep, hearing him sneak out of bed and listen to his gasps and grunts on the other side of the wall, swallowing down the nausea as you thought about what he was doing. You hated that murder wall. Something that always brought you some kind of excitement and wonder, that made you feel alive and determined, that weirdly brought you some kind of peace, was suddenly the very thing that made you feel trapped, suffocated. You just wanted to take it down, but you knew you needed to keep it up if you had any chance of solving this. You needed that visual to fit the pieces together. 

Sam seemed convinced enough by your act, though, and you’d spent your day alone in the apartment, looking through his things for any kind of evidence that you might need to prove yourself right. But you knew Sam was smarter than that. He would never just leave evidence lying around. But you did wonder where the real things from his lock up were. He had to have known you were going to visit, maybe Dean mentioned something to him when you asked about the Sam Wesson thing, or maybe Sam was keeping tabs on you some other way, too. You remembered how he’d fixed the security cameras in the bar recently, and yet another thing started to make sense. If only you could look on his laptop and phone without him knowing, but you didn’t have the first idea about hacking. 

You had to focus on the evidence you did have, and first and foremost you had to rule out Sam going to Bobby’s the night that Amber died. You were too paranoid to ask Dean for Bobby’s number, or use your phone to search for his bar’s number, so you decided to head into town and used an internet cafe to find it. Singers was in South Dakota, meaning it was several hours away, so it was plausible that he’d stay for the night, but it still didn’t make sense that Dean was none the wiser and seemed thrown off that Sam had even gone at all. You hadn’t even considered what you were going to say to Bobby, how you were going to ask him in a way that he’d tell you the truth. From what you’d heard about Bobby, the boys were close to him, and maybe he’d back Sam up whether Sam was there or not. Why would Bobby tell you, a girl he barely knows and has never even met in person, something that might land Sam in trouble? And you didn’t even have a good enough excuse to ask him. You couldn’t exactly tell him you thought your boyfriend was a serial killer, he’d laugh you off the phone. 

You sulked the whole way back to your apartment, having given up on the idea of contacting Bobby. The only person he wouldn’t lie to about this would be Dean, and you couldn’t exactly ask Dean to ask him. You couldn’t even be sure Dean would tell you the truth. It was all you thought about for two days straight, until finally you were alone with Dean at the bar. You were both down in the basement. Dean was on his back, head stuck under some piping, and you were holding his phone, shining the torch from it in his direction, so he could see what he was doing. It occured to you as you stood there and held his phone that you could text Bobby from this and get an answer. But how could you do that without Dean noticing? Were you that desperate to know the truth? The bar phone started to ring and Dean huffed. 

“I’ll get it,” you offered.

“Nah, it’s a supplier, been having issues, I’ll get it.” Dean climbed back to his feet and dusted himself off a little, before heading up the stairs. 

You realised very quickly that he’d left you with his cell. This was your chance. You opened his messages quickly and found his thread with Bobby. It didn’t take much reading to know that he and Bobby were both men of few words, so you had to keep your text short. Your hands were shaking, and you kept glancing at the cellar door as you typed up a message, fairly pleased it would be believable to Bobby. 

**_< U seen Sam in the last month or 2?_ **

Your heart was thudding in your chest as you hit send, and it suddenly dawned on you he might take  _ hours  _ to reply. Then what? This was a big mistake, but it was too late now, you couldn’t take it back.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you waited on baited breath. Dean’s phone pinged in your hand, and you almost cried of relief to see Bobby had replied. 

**_> Nope. Come to think of it, not seen either of you in a while. Forgotten about me?_ **

You couldn’t risk sending another message, so you quickly deleted the two messages so Dean wouldn’t see them, and it suddenly dawned on you just what Bobby’s message meant. It meant Sam  _ was  _ lying to you. He wasn’t in South Dakota. Which meant he  _ could  _ have been elsewhere. It wasn’t solid evidence, certainly not enough to take to the cops, but it was the final nail in the coffin for you to be fully convinced Sam was the killer. 

Dean coming back down the stairs was what broke you out of your thoughts, and he smiled at you.

“All sorted, honestly, want something doing, do it yourself. Like this sonofabitch, a plumber would charge me a hundred bucks easily,” Dean scoffed, getting back down onto the floor. “You okay, Y/N?” he asked, frowning slightly as he lay down and looked up at you. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just not getting much sleep at the moment. I’ll be fine.” Dean offered you some kind of sympathetic smile, which he’d been doing a lot of recently, and then got back into position, so you aimed the cell in his direction again and let him get back to work. 

-

Sam was out when you got back to the apartment, and you dared to lift the sheet on the wall so you could look over the evidence, trying to piece more together, especially now you knew the truth about the night Amber was murdered. The killings had become closer to home the last several months, since you’d moved in, and you realised that it was now so  _ glaringly obvious  _ that Sam was the killer, you hated yourself for not seeing it sooner. Would it be enough for you to go to the cops with what you had and testify against him? It was all circumstantial at best, and although you knew it in your gut to be true, it didn’t mean anyone would believe you. And when you finally did go to the cops, you couldn’t fuck it up. For your own life. 

Sam was coming through the door before you even realised he was back, and you rushed to cover up the wall, but instead the sheet fell down completely.

“Sam, I was just… I was thinking about taking it down,” you lied, panicked. You didn’t want him to know you were looking at it. You just prayed he believed you. “Like you said, it’s not a serial killer and it’s pointless it just being up and us covering it over.” You hated every word you were saying, knowing how much harder it would be once the wall was gone, but if it kept you alive you were willing to do it. Sam didn’t say anything as he got closer, and his hazel eyes landed on the wall and lingered for a long moment. 

“You can keep it, I like it,” he finally told you, smirking slightly. You frowned ever so slightly at his comment, unsure how to take it, what game he was playing, and then as his eyes landed on the wall again and darkened, it all made sense. Sam bit his bottom lip as he scanned the victims over and over, and when he finally looked back at you he painted on a warm smile. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised, stepping a little closer to you, his voice soft and deep. “I’m so proud of you for letting this go, I know it can’t be easy,” he went on. You just nodded, too afraid to lie out loud. Sam gripped the side of your face and leaned down, kissing you passionately. He pressed you up against the wall as he continued to kiss you, his hands gripping at your hips, and you knew what was coming. It was the first time since you’d suspected him that he’d wanted to be intimate, and you were wondering if you could even go through with this. It was one thing to lie the way you had been, but to have sex with him knowing what he’d done? You weren’t sure you could handle that. Sam continued to kiss you, despite your clear hesitation, and started to work on unbuttoning your jeans, pushing them down your legs. He was encouraging you to step out of them as he opened his own jeans to free his erection, and you were concentrating so hard on keeping the bile at the back of your throat, that you hadn’t even noticed he was picking you back up and pinning you to the wall with his own body. 

You could see his eyes elsewhere, somewhere over your shoulder, where one of his victims no doubt was pinned as he lined himself up and thrust into you. You winced, trying so hard to hide it, and leaned further into Sam so he couldn’t see your face. Tears started to pool in your eyes, and you clamped a hand tightly over your mouth so he’d have no idea you were crying as he fucked you against the wall holding all his secrets. 


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Tags:** spiralling, losing control, manipulation, compulsive lying, drugging, angst

**Chapter WC:** 2008

\- - -

  
  


**_Sam’s POV_ **

  
  


Sam should’ve known then little bitch couldn’t leave well enough alone when he caught her looking at the wall. But he was happy to swallow the bullshit she was feeding him about taking it down, but seeing it there in all its glory sidetracked him, had his mind wandering to blood and glazed over eyes and he couldn’t help himself. He fucked her hard against the wall liked he’d missed doing so much, and left her alone to shower without another word. Sam dug into his pocket and pulled the pill bottle out. He was sure he could convince Y/N to take some, spin her some line about helping with her anxiety about being the next victim, and how it’ll help her sleep, which he knows she’s not done an awful lot of recently. And if she does refuse, he can find other ways to get her to take them. It was a slippery slope, but once she was reliant, Sam would have full control. He just had to stick it out until then. 

He placed the bottle on the highest shelf in the bathroom cupboard, where she could never reach without him, and decided to bring it up later that night, maybe after his shower if she seemed to be in a good enough mood. Her being compliant would really make life easier for him. Now he’d narrowed down his next victim, Kara, he needed life with Y/N to go as smoothly as possible. Keeping her alive really was a pain in his ass, but he was sure it would be worth the hassle once he’d broken her,  _ just enough.  _ His cell phone sounded out on the counter next to the sink and he reached for it to see that Dean was calling. 

“Hey,” he answered, using his free hand to unbutton his flannel shirt.

“Hey, where are you?” Dean asked immediately, and Sam glanced towards the shower, realising Dean must have been able to hear it. 

“About to shower, why?” Sam pressed, shrugging his shirt off and moving on to unbuckling his belt. 

“Well, it’s just something weird has happened,” Dean began, “I’m probably thinking too much into it or… I don’t know, but it doesn’t make sense,” he waffled.

“Dean,” Sam huffed. 

“Right, Bobby called,” he started to explain. 

“Yeah? What did he want?” Sam asked, pulling his belt open more slowly. 

“He asked if you were in trouble.” Sam stopped altogether and frowned.   
“Why? Why would he think I was in trouble?”

“I don’t know, I said that, and he said because of my text earlier. But I didn’t text him today, and I checked my phone but there was nothing there.” Sam took a second to absorb the information and, just so he got his head around it properly, he asked Dean to repeat the conversation word for word.

“So Bobby said  _ what’s that idjit done now,  _ and I replied saying  _ who?  _ And he said  _ your brother of course.  _ So I was confused and said  _ nothing, why?  _ And then Bobby said  _ why were you checking up on him earlier, seeing if he’d been here?  _ And I told him I hadn’t and he asked if I’d been drinking. He said he received a text from me asking if he’d seen you in the last month or so.” Sam was finally starting to get to grips with Dean’s story and he clenched his jaw.

“Was Y/N left alone at all earlier? With your cell?” Sam prompted, dialling his voice down a little.

“Sam, I don’t think… why would she check with Bobby when she already knows you were lying about that? You told me she found out.” Sam swallowed hard, he  _ did  _ tell Dean that. 

“Maybe she just wanted to know for sure. He’s not gonna give her the truth is he? He’d have gone along with whatever story I’d told her.” Sam couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. She was fucking clever, he’d give her that much. 

He pulled his cell away from his ear and squeezed it tight in his palm for a moment, before taking a deep breath and bringing it back to his ear. He needed to solve this  _ problem.  _ Y/N had clearly not dropped this at all, and she was only going to get worse. He couldn’t kill her yet, not without a plan, but he could take control now, bide his time and cover his tracks. 

“Listen, Dean, Y/N is clearly worse than I thought. I think that time off would be good, for both of us,” he sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, of course, I understand, I’ll call Benny and make something work. I really hope that you can help her, she’s a nice girl.” 

“Yeah, she is,” Sam lied. 

“Take all the time you need, Sammy. Keep me in the loop, yeah?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, of course, thanks Dean.” 

He hung up and grunted quietly to himself as he threw his phone down and leaned over the sink, dropping his head between his arms. He needed to get on top of this right away, before she could do any more damage. He shut the shower off and thought for a moment. He wanted to storm out into the living room and wrap his hand around her throat, until the lights went out in her eyes, just like all his other victims, but he needed to be smart about this. Y/N didn’t need to know that he knew she was still on to him, he could play her little game. He just needed to act like nothing was wrong, continue to try and convince her he was innocent. Maybe he needed to give her a different alibi to Bobby. He grabbed his shirt and buttoned it back up.

He stepped back out into the living room to see her sitting on her laptop. She closed it as soon as she saw him and smiled softly.

“Thought you were taking a shower?” she pressed quietly. She looked like she’d been crying, but Sam brushed over the fact as he moved to sit beside her on the couch. 

“I need to confess something. Need to come clean,” Sam started. Y/N’s eyes grew wider and she swallowed thickly, seemingly holding her breath for his confession. “I lied to you,” he admitted. He sighed and looked down to his lap remorsefully, “truth is I didn’t visit Bobby when I said I did.” He looked back up at her face to see her eyes were glazing over with tears.

“Where were you?” she whispered, almost like she was afraid of his answer. 

Of course, Sam wasn’t going to give her the answer she was desperate for, though. 

“Honestly, I found you moving in and working at the bar a little overwhelming, and I just needed some time… some space. I lied because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he told her softly. Y/N frowned for a moment, no doubt confused about his confession, and then began to cry softly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. This is why I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to think that I was having second thoughts about us or anything, I just needed the space.” She sniffled and reached up to wipe her eyes. 

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just tired, I’ve not slept much recently.” 

Sam tried to hide his smirk as he nodded his head in agreement. 

“About that,” he started slowly, “when Jess first died I couldn’t sleep, so the doctor prescribed me some pills to help and they really worked. I think you’d benefit from them.” 

“No, Sam, I’ll be fine. I don’t have time to go to the doctors,” she argued. Sam got up and quickly made his way into the bathroom, tipping two Xanax into his palm and returning. 

“You don’t have to, I’ve got mine,” he offered. He reached forward for her glass of water on the coffee table and handed it to her and she very hesitantly took it. 

“What are they?” she pressed.

“Just sleeping pills, nothing major, just help you get a good night’s rest,” he smiled reassuringly. She looked up at him for a moment and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. 

“It’s okay, Sam. I think with how tired I am, I’ll sleep okay tonight.”

“Just take them, Y/N, they’ll help,” Sam grunted, a little irritated. Why the fuck couldn’t she just do as she was told, _ just  _ for  _ once?!  _

“Please, Sam, I know you’re worried but I’m okay,” she insisted. Sam clenched his jaw, and before he could think about it twice, he’d gripped her chin so hard it was forcing her jaw open. He pushed the two pills into her mouth and she struggled against him, hitting his arm to fight him off, but he relented. He wrapped his large hand over her mouth and nose with ease and waited until he saw she’d swallowed before he let up. Y/N was gasping for breath, looking at him petrified and Sam huffed. He’d lost control and now she was never going to trust him, could he even pull this back? 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m trying to help you, baby,” he sighed, reaching for her. 

“Don’t,” she snapped, pulling back. Sam grunted under his breath and Y/N flinched. She was  _ scared of him.  _ Good, she should be. 

“I’m doing what’s best for you, Y/N,” he told her adamantly. She held a hand over her mouth and cried softly, getting up as she started to pace. 

“Baby, talk to me, I said I’m sorry,” Sam pleaded, watching her look at him as she paced. Her eyes glanced past him to the wall and then back again.

“What did you give me, Sam?” she asked through sobs.

“Just some Xanax, it’s not gonna kill you, it’ll just help you sleep, I promise,” Sam reassured her once more. 

“Show me the bottle,” she demanded. Sam sighed and rose to his feet. He went into the bathroom and returned with the bottle, handing it to her. 

“Okay?” he pressed. She nodded ever so softly and handed it back to him. He could see her struggling to keep her eyes open now and watched as she steadied herself on the table’s edge. “Let me take you to bed,” Sam offered sweetly. 

He stepped forward and gripped her arms, despite her weak protests, and guided her over to the bed, laying her down on it. He stood over her and watched as she mumbled something incoherent under her breath, before falling asleep. He was reminded of that redhead in the alley that had fallen victim to some date rape, and he remembered how that just hadn’t done scratched any kind of itch. Drugged, unconscious girls just didn’t do it for him. It wasn’t the same without a bit of a fight. Sam knew Y/N would be out until morning now, and sighed, reaching down and digging into her jeans pocket for her cell. He stared at it for a second. He would’ve been tempted to look on it had he not seen it all already. He retreated back to the living room and reached for her laptop, putting it on the dining table as he started to form a pile of any electronics in the apartment. 

Once Sam was sure that he had removed every way that Y/N could reach out to someone, or go online, he collected it all into a holdall and grabbed her apartment keys. He stepped out and locked the door behind him, before heading down to his car. He could take this stuff to the lock up, and there he could sit and formulate a better plan. At least she couldn’t go anywhere or do anything now, so Sam didn’t have to worry about that for the time being. He tossed the bag into the passenger seat and sighed heavily. Kara was just going to have to wait. Apparently Y/N was his next victim, after all. 


	24. Chapter Twenty Four (FIN)

**Chapter Tags:** angst with a capital A N G S and T, manipulation, controlling, fear, drugging, talk of murder, confrontation, murder, bleeding, death.

**Chapter WC:** 3156

**A/Ns:** Well, what a ride for you and me both! I really enjoyed writing this kind of thriller and I hope you enjoyed reading! <3

-

**_Your POV_ **

For a split second, albeit brief, you were naive enough to believe that Sam was about to confess to killing Amber. His eyes were wide and soft, almost fearful as he sat next to you on the couch and admitted that he had a confession. You were already formulating a plan in your mind. What would be the best way to react, without the fear of angering him or making him think you were about to run and tell the cops? You had to be smart about this, even with the confirmation. It was still going to be your word against his, unless he confessed to them too. You just  _ wished  _ you’d been smart enough to record this on your phone somehow. But what came out of his mouth wasn’t what you were expecting. It was only another lie. 

You realised as you sat there and stared at him, pretending to lap up every word he said, just how  _ good  _ he was at lying. If you didn’t already know the truth then you would’ve no doubt believed this. So what else had he lied about? Did he love you? Was he even capable of love? Why keep you around if he wasn’t? Because you were naive? Because you were easy to control and manipulate? You realised tears were streaming effortlessly down your cheeks as the reality of just how manipulative your boyfriend was started to really hit home for you. You could no longer believe a word he said, you could see through it all. And now that it was just so blatantly  _ obvious, _ you were mad at yourself for even falling for all his bullshit in the first place. Some reporter you were. You’d always trusted your gut, so why wasn’t your gut telling you how toxic this man was?!

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. This is why I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to think that I was having second thoughts about us or anything, I just needed the space.” Sam’s words snapped you out of your thoughts, and you didn’t want him to think you weren’t buying it, so you nodded quickly and dried your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just tired, I’ve not slept much recently.” 

Sam nodded in agreement, and you’d kind of hoped he’d not noticed, but then again, nothing got past him, apparently. 

“About that,” he started slowly, “when Jess first died I couldn’t sleep, so the doctor prescribed me some pills to help and they really worked. I think you’d benefit from them.” Just the thought of taking anything or doing anything that could cloud your judgement, or make you lose even just a little control of yourself made you feel panicked. 

“No, Sam, I’ll be fine. I don’t have time to go to the doctors,” you argued. 

Sam got up, and quickly disappeared and you considered just making a run for it. He was talking about drugs, he was bringing up Bobby. He was on to you. If you escaped now, then maybe you could get far enough away that it would buy you some time to get to the cops, and you’d just have to  _ pray  _ that they believed you. They wouldn’t laugh you out of the station if you were genuinely fearing for your life, surely? 

But Sam returned before you could build up the courage to do it saying, “you don’t have to, I’ve got mine.” He reached forward for the drink on the coffee table and handed it to you. You didn’t want to take the glass, you didn’t want to make him think you were going along with this, but you also didn’t want to anger him, so you accepted it. 

“What are they?” you pressed, looking at the two white pills in his palm.

“Just sleeping pills, nothing major, just help you get a good night’s rest,” he told you. You assumed his fake smile was meant to be reassuring, but unluckily for him, you could see straight through it. 

How did you get out of this? He wouldn’t stop until you swallowed the damn things. 

“It’s okay, Sam. I think with how tired I am, I’ll sleep okay tonight,” you naively tried. 

“Just take them, Y/N, they’ll help,” Sam grunted, a little irritated. He looked annoyed, but you decided to try pushing just a little more. If you kept reassuring him, pretending to not see through his facade, maybe you could still get out of this. 

“Please, Sam, I know you’re worried, but I’m okay,” you insisted. You thought you might’ve gotten away with it, but Sam’s jaw clenched and within seconds his fingers were gripping your chin so painfully hard, he’d pried your mouth open. He forced the pills into your mouth, and trapped his hand over it and your nose. You could already taste that bitter, chemical taste on your tongue as they began to dissolve, but you still struggled against him, gripping his wrist hard and trying to pry him away. He was going to kill you. This was it, and it was like your whole life flashed before your eyes. 

You eventually swallowed, more instinct than anything, and considered throwing them back up again, but you were sure Sam would have  _ something  _ to say about that. Sam’s hand slipped from your mouth and you gasped for air, eyes wide and hands trembling as you reached up and felt the ghost of Sam’s hand still trapping your airways. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m trying to help you, baby,” he sighed, reaching for you. How could he even be so  _ nice  _ after what he’d done? Pretend it was for your own good like that? 

“Don’t,” you snapped, pulling back. Sam grunted under his breath and you were so afraid he might hurt you even more, that you flinched. 

“I’m doing what’s best for you, Y/N,” he told you adamantly. You rose to your feet and started to pace, silently crying. “Baby, talk to me, I said I’m sorry.” 

You turned to look in his direction, none of his other victims had any kind of drug in their system, only alcohol. This wasn’t his usual MO. Did that mean he wasn’t going to kill you? Or did that mean that he was just taking a different approach with you, because you weren’t one his  _ girls.  _ You would be a necessary kill, just something to get out of his way. 

You looked back at him and asked, “What did you give me, Sam?”

“Just some Xanax, it’s not gonna kill you, it’ll just help you sleep, I promise,” Sam reassured you once more. But there was no way you were believing a word that came out of his mouth.

“Show me the bottle,” you demanded. And you probably weren’t in any kind of position to make any kind of demands, but you just needed to know what was in your system right now. You needed to see it for yourself. 

Sam sighed and rose to his feet, and as he left you alone once more, you glanced at the front door and considered an escape. But already your brain felt fuzzy, and he’d track you down in seconds if you tried to run. Then you’d be in big trouble, if you weren’t already. Sam returned with the bottle, handing it to you. 

“Okay?” he pressed. You read the label three times over to see it was definitely Xanax. So maybe he wasn’t trying to kill you. Maybe he just needed you out of the picture for a little while. You couldn’t fight the drowsiness that was now swimming around your mind as you reached for the table to keep yourself standing. “Let me take you to bed,” Sam offered sweetly.  _ Lying bastard, _ but you couldn’t stop him from helping you into the bedroom. As he lay you down you tried to tell him that you knew, that you knew he was the killer and that you’d get him locked up, but words weren’t coming out, until you couldn’t stop yourself from slipping into unconsciousness. 

-

When you came around, your head still felt so heavy and  _ slow, _ and getting out of bed was more of an effort than usual, even though you were quickly on high alert once you remembered what had happened before your sleep. You looked at the alarm clock to see it was almost midday. You’d slept for more than twelve hours straight. You were late for work, and you knew that was the least of your worries, what with having a boyfriend who was a serial killer who had drugged you to deal with, but you didn’t want to let Dean down, you needed him on your side, and you couldn’t tell him what was going on, not until you had the evidence to back it up. This was going to destroy him. He needed to find out the right way at the right time. You decided to call in sick, and patted down your pockets to discover they were empty. It became a mad dash to find your cell as you searched the apartment. You threw cushions off of the couch, tipped bowls and drawers upside down, but it was nowhere. 

You stopped, realising that you’d not seen your laptop during your hunt either. Or Sam’s laptop. You turned to head into the kitchen, but the house phone was gone too. You’d just have to turn up, say you slept in because you were sick. Maybe Sam was already there, he clearly wasn’t home. Maybe he’d covered for you if he knew you’d be out for a lot longer. You barely glanced over yourself in the mirror. You were in yesterday’s clothes - jeans and a plaid shirt - and your hair and makeup were a state, but it would all do. You headed for the front door, only to find it locked. You grunted turning around and rummaging for your keys, but they were gone too. You repeated your earlier search, far more frantic than before, as you slowly started to realise that this was Sam’s doing. He had trapped you in here, with no means of contacting the outside world. You were his prisoner. 

Tears were streaming down your face now, as you hurried over to the window in the living room and attempted to open it. It was a high jump, sure to kill you, but maybe you could call for help. The window was locked, the key missing, and you desperately checked every other window in the apartment, realising that you were officially locked in. Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, the apartment that used to seem roomy and homely, now felt ten sizes smaller, not big enough for one person let alone two. It felt empty and damp and cold. You sobbed as you pressed back against the wall and stared out at the mess you’d made with your searching. Sam knew. Sam knew you were lying, knew you’d try and run. 

Your blood started to boil beneath your skin as you thought about how much of a gullible fool you’d been, how much you hated Sam for doing this to you and to all those other girls. You glanced at the murder wall and it was like it was mocking you. Neon flashing arrows with Sam’s name above it, taunting you that you were too late _. Not good enough, not fast enough, not smart enough - just not enough.  _ You charged over to it and started to tear it down, screaming and crying as you ripped every last piece of evidence into tiny pieces, letting them rain down like confetti at your feet. You gripped at pins and hurled them across the room, sobbing so loudly the neighbours could probably hear you.  _ Neighbours.  _

“HELP! HELP ME, I’M IN TROUBLE HELP!” You were screaming as loudly as you could, your throat smarting each time your voice cracked, your lungs burning with every desperate gulp of air between calls. It was midday in the middle of the week, hardly anyone would be home, you knew that, but you had to try. You rushed over to the window and started to thump your fists on it, screaming and looking down into the street for anyone who might be passing by and notice you. But it was dead out there. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASE!” You could break the window, you could scream louder across the whole town. You rushed to the kitchen, trying to find something that would be heavy enough for the job, but as you were looking the front door slammed open and you turned around, gasping for breath in shock. 

“You little fucking bitch,” Sam snarled, “shut the fuck up.” Your heart nearly thudded out of your chest and stopped all at once, as you saw Sam standing there, pure fury on his face. He closed the apartment door behind him, his shoulders squared, chest puffed out and his jaw clenched. Your hands were shaking as you reached for a knife from the holder in front of you and held it out.    
“D-don’t,” you warned him. “Don’t come near me.” Sam looked at the knife and scoffed. 

“Oh baby, who do you think you’re kidding?” He smirked maliciously, and you held it higher in front of you in warning, though your hands were trembling. “You wouldn’t kill me, the man who loves you, who’s trying to keep you safe.”

“I know… I know what you did… what you are,” you told him, voice shaky but still loud. Sam sighed heavily and he almost looked  _ proud  _ about it. 

“Guess you’re smarter than I give you credit for,” he noted. 

He glanced around the kitchen and sighed.

“Yeah, you’ve been right for a while, about everything. The girls are all mine, there’s more too. I do hunt cheaters. Like them blonde, blue eyes, just like-”   
“Jess. You’re killing these girls because they remind you of Jess,” you told him quietly. 

“At least someone listened in Crim, I was always too busy trying not to get hard at the crime scene photos.” You swallowed down the bile in your throat at his words, and shook your head.

“Why are you telling me all this?” you asked, frowning. 

“Baby, you’re acting like you’ve lost your fuckin’ mind. Who’s gonna believe you over me, now? You don’t have any evidence, I’ve deleted it all, every last bit. The cops aren’t fucking smart enough to make the connection yet. I’m untouchable.”   
“You’re not. You’ll lose control or slip up one day and you’ll get caught. I can go to the police and tell them what I know, if I can gather the evidence they can too - and more.”

“You’d have to leave the apartment to do that, sweetheart. And I’m thinking you’re not mentally stable enough for day trips outside right now.” Sam chuckled and stepped closer again, so you moved back, keeping the knife up. 

“You can’t keep me locked in here forever, what about Dean? The bar…”   
“Dean thinks you’re having a little bit of a mental breakdown, told him you were gonna take some time off. In a few weeks, once I’ve figured what to do with you, I’ll tell him we broke up. Nasty one, I really don’t wanna talk about it.” You shook your head, swallowing hard. 

“No,” you whimpered. 

“Sweetheart, I can do anything I want.” 

“No, no you can’t. Sam, please,” you begged, though you knew it was futile. 

Sam glanced towards the murder wall, and his calm, cocky aura changed in seconds once he’d seen what it had become. 

“You fucking slut, what have you done?!” he growled. You relished in how mad it made him, even if that meant you were in more danger. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t get off without it? That’s why you couldn’t finish in the cellar, right? That why you ever even fucked me in the first place?” you goaded.

“Can you blame me? Needed all the help I could get with you,” he snapped back, bitterly. You decided not to listen. He was lashing out because you’d upset him, and  _ good.  _

“You’re fucked up, and when Dean finds out - and he will one day - he’s gonna leave you, he’s gonna abandon you, just like Jess did when she decided to fuck Taylor behind your back.” Your eyes widened when you realised you’d said too much. Sam charged towards you with a look so evil and determined on his face, if you thought he was going to kill you last night when he forced those pills down your throat, then it was nothing compared to right now. 

You didn’t even think about it, as soon as he was close enough you plunged the knife into his stomach, just below his ribs and he stopped, gasping for breath and reaching for the handle sticking out of him. Your eyes widened and your whole body froze as you watched him stumble and fall to the floor. As soon as he lay down, everything kicked back into focus and you realised what you’d done. 

“Sam, oh fuck,” you gasped, dropping to your knees and leaning over him. Blood was pouring out of him, soaking his shirt and he looked up at you with a small frown on his face. “Oh god, Sam I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to -” you sniffled, looking around you for a phone, before remembering there were none. You tapped Sam’s pockets but they seemed empty. “Fuck, HELP SOMEONE HELP US!” You shouted again. 

Sam silenced you when he reached for your wrist with a bloodied hand and brought your attention back to his face. He was gasping for air, his whole body shaking as he looked up at you. 

“Kee-keep your e-eyes on me,” he grunted out. You were sobbing as you watched him deteriorate before your very eyes. A mixture of sadness and, dare you say it, relief washed over you. “Look at… m-my eyes.” You cried as you did as he said. “Wa-watching the l-light g-go out is the… b-best part.” You frowned, how could he even say that? Sam’s grip around your wrist loosened and then fell away completely, and you looked directly into his eyes and saw the very moment he had been talking about, where the multitude of colours went from glossy to dim like a switch had been hit. It was as though you didn’t even need the confirmation of his chest no longer rising or falling, or his pulse no longer thudding under the skin in his neck. You could tell from his eyes alone he was dead. The eyes you once loved with their flakes of gold and mixes of blues and greens. His last words echoed around and around in your head as you leaned over him and stared down at his lifeless body. 

_ Watching the light go out is the best part.  _ You hated to admit that he was right. 

  
  


THE END


End file.
